


we're soarin', flyin'

by devourer_of_books



Series: Camleot High Shenenigans [1]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Anxiety, F/F, F/M, Gen, High School Musical AU, I feel like Sophie's Sophie-ness should be a warning, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Best Friends to Lovers, agatha is so done with tedros, all abord the slow burn train, also some enemies to lovers yey, beatrix: lesbian legend, callis being the legend that she is, he is also a master at jumping to conclusions, hester and agatha being functional exes, hunter rights i said, internalized homophobia and slut shaming, kinda sorta, nicola is a jock and book-ish bc I make the rules, tedros is a party king, this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devourer_of_books/pseuds/devourer_of_books
Summary: Drama club president, Sophie Woods, is given the mission of saving their department from being shut down by putting together the best production ofThe Tale of Safiya and Angelica: The Musicalthe world has even seen. And she will… somehow.High School Musical AU, kinda, I guessalternative title: that one scene in hsm2 with Zac Efron dancing his angst out in a golf course is pure Tedros energy, fight me.
Relationships: Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil), Anadil/Hester (The School for Good and Evil), Beatrix/Reena (The School for Good and Evil), Nicola/Sophie (The School for Good and Evil), one sided Hort/Sophie, one sided Nicola/Hort, one sided Sophie/Tedros, past Agatha/Hester, past Beatrix/Tedros
Series: Camleot High Shenenigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763908
Comments: 61
Kudos: 81





	1. something inspiring to help me get along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let's write a high school au." I said, not knowing anything about how schools work outside of Brazil.  
> "Let's write a high school au, but with sports." I said, knowing close to nothing about sports.  
> "Let's write a high school au with sports and musicals." I said, having never been in a single play in my entire life.
> 
> Usually, I either write what I know or what I can make up. The fact that i actually tried to do research for this is beyond me. Probably should have done some more. Learned lots of new words. But you can tell that at some point I just gave up and decided 'you know what, it's a fictional country, with fictional dates and laws, Idc'. So, buckle up, folks, it's about to get tropey.

_(June 6th, 2020)_

Sophie should’ve known there was a catch the moment father told them that if they didn’t want to come to the cruise with him, Honora and the boys (which they didn’t), they didn’t have to. It was just too good to be true. There was no way their father, of all people, was actually going to allow his teenage daughters to stay home alone (well, as alone as one can be with a twin sister) completely _unsupervised_ for a month and a half during summer vacation.

Considering that Sophie could only kinda-cook and Agatha was a kitchen hazzard waiting to happen, she estimates they would have died, like, on week 2, but that was why takeout was a thing, _right_?

Well, wrong, apparently.

Honestly, between a 10-hour-drive up the mountains with Agatha, to waste six weeks’ worth of summertime under the harsh weather of Avalon, and a cruise to the Bahamas with their father, step-mother and step-brothers, Sophie would gladly take the drive, thank you. But one could always dream that maybe he’d let them stay home, safe and sound at their house in the sunny city of Camelot.

Or at least he could have paid for some plane tickets, instead of sending them into this blasted road-trip. Not that Avalon even had an airport anyway.

The problem with driving wasn’t the driving itself. Sophie loves driving her car. But not for _this long_ and surely not to _this destination_. The highway itself seemed to be cursed, as if it didn’t want them on it as much as they didn’t want to be in it. It looked a bit like a road you might find in one of those bad-CGI low-budget movies. Just road, more road and some bushes, as far as the eye can see, leading to absolutely nowhere.

The only indication that they were moving _at all_ and not trapped into some sort of infinite loop were the occasional changing signs and the fact that the bushes were slightly less bushy and more tree-like then they were an hour ago, when they stopped to have lunch and go to the bathroom in a small town. You know, before Sophie pretty much bullied Agatha into taking the driver’s seat for the rest of the trip. It had been awfully funny, watching her sister struggle to adjust the stiff leather seat to fit her long legs, in front of a roadside restaurant, clinging to the open door for balance, somehow getting her hair caught on the seatbelt of Sophie’s bubblegum pink car during that process, while Sophie laughed, sipping her watery orange juice in the passenger’s seat.

But now, in retrospect, Sophie kinda regrets having Agatha take the steering wheel, because the only thing more cursed than the road itself had to be her sister’s ‘emo kid 2000’s’ playlist blasting at full volume.

“Can you turn this off?” Sophie snaps at her for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

“ _No_.”

“It’s, like, the eighteen-thousandth time this song plays.”

“ _So_? I’m driving, I get playlist rights,” Agatha refutes, eyes on the road. “Besides, it’s the only one I’ve got saved, so it’s that or nothing.”

“ _Nothing_ then.”

Agatha ignores her, humming along the lyrics.

“Check the GPS, if we get the wrong exit up ahead we’re gonna be here for an additional 2 hours.”

“Does it make a difference, Aggie?" Sophie grumbles, crossing her arms. "We’re already gonna be here _forever_ anyway!”

“Well, if you don’t check, it’s gonna be _forever_ _and 2 hours,_ ” she hisses, “ _Sophie!_ ”

Sophie wants to argue that if they manage to get lost on the two-way-single-lane road that they’ve been on for hours now, then they’d _deserve_ to be here forever, but as she is about to open her mouth, she sees what Agatha means. A big sign tells her that the cursed highway (as she decided to name it) will be branching out in roundabout in a few miles, but she can’t read anything else due to the big bushes in front of it.

“I have no signal,” Sophie checks her phone, frowning. “Let me use your data.”

Her sister stays silent, but the way Agatha glares at the road is all Sophie needs, reaching over to grab the phone from where it was charging, nestled in the car’s panel nook, just beside Sophie’s designer sunglasses.

The lock screen is, unsurprisingly, a default landscape image. Agatha has 3 missed calls and a few texts, as well as some social media notifications. Mostly twitter.

“What’s your password?” she asks teasingly, holding the device to Agatha between her thumb and index fingers.

“Piss off.”

Truly, for all Sophie knows it could have been that, but she doesn’t get to find out because Agatha offers her a digit to unlock the device before she can test it.

Her home screen shows a blurry picture of the scrawny hairless cat that hung around their school − Reaper, Agatha had told her she had named him – hissing at a volleyball. Cute, kinda. She turns to the phone’s owner again, but if there’s a story there, Agatha doesn’t mention it.

With a sigh, Sophie turns on the data and sets up the private hotspot option, putting her sister’s phone, still unlocked, back in the nook before unlocking her own.

“It’s the second one. Then, turn left,” Sophie informs her, after checking the app and locking her screen again.

And so, left they go, and the highway shifts from a cursed road flanked by bushes to an even more cursed highway flanked by trees.

On her lap, her own phone buzzes like it had been suddenly possessed (it might as well have been, by the spirit of internet connection), flashing like crazy, flooded with late notifications and texts. Mostly from Hort _. Ugh, leave on read_. Sophie slowly goes through the rest of them, uninterested, until they’re all gone, leaving her staring at her own lock screen – a selfie she took last week, in which she looked particularly beautiful, her long blonde hair styled into soft curls, almond green eyes framed by flawlessly blended eyeshadow, bringing out her perfect tanned skin and full glossy lips−

She takes a moment to look out of the corner of her eye at her sister.

Sophie gets a perfect view of Agatha’s side profile. Big round brown eyes, very pale skin, thin lips and straight-cut shoulder-length ebony hair, held back in a half-up hairstyle to keep it from getting into her eyes. Her expression was serious and focused, accentuating the sharp lines of both her face and body as she frowned at the cursed highway like it was single-handedly responsible for the fact that she’d be confined in Sophie’s car for at least 6 more hours and it should be ashamed of itself.

It’s not that Agatha isn’t pretty. She is, in her own way, and could be even prettier if she’d let Sophie help her. But, anyway, you’d never guess they were related, much less _twin sisters_. From their hair color to the way they viewed the world, Sophie and Agatha had always been opposites. Despite having been together their entire lives, literally from the moment they were born, there weren’t many things they agreed on.

Sophie didn’t particularly care that they disagreed a lot because when they _did agree_ on something, it was because it was important. Such as: neither of them wanted to spend their summer vacation at Avalon.

Usually, unlike Sophie, Agatha likes going to Avalon to visit their aunt Callis. She had told Sophie once that she liked the _‘small-town-vibe’_ they had going for them there, the cold mountain climate, being able to spend some time with Callis, etc; how _‘traditional and domestic’_ the whole thing felt compared to home. Sophie didn’t really agree, yet she could see why it would appeal to Agatha.

But 6 weeks? Not even her introverted sister could spend that long rotting there!

Both Sophie and Agatha already had plans for the summer. Agatha had applied to this volleyball camp in Netherwood, where pretty much her entire team was going to spend 8 weeks training. Father had nearly let her go, if only that wouldn’t mean Sophie would be home alone for more than a month.

Which would have been perfect for Sophie, as her sister’s and her stepfamily’s absence lined up greatly with her own plans. Not only her plans to tan by the pool and attend a few later-than-usual parties, but her _actual master plan_.

As the current president of the drama club, Sophie was a woman on a mission. Professor Lesso, the theater department coordinator and one of Camelot High’s two deans, had presented her with her first task just before summer started: she was to recruit more members, _whatever the cost._

The theater department had been losing more and more students and sponsors over the years, and this year would be their last shot to get them back, or they’d be shut down by the school principal’s orders. Their remaining budget allowed for two mild plays, but both Sophie and Professor Lesso knew that _mild_ didn’t attract people. So, this year, they’d have one _huge_ musical instead, _a never before seen on a high school stage spectacle_ to blow sponsors away and get every miserable soul in that school involved with the art of theater. As president and director, as well as main actress, Sophie decided to go with a timeless classic, every theater kid’s favorite A-list musical, _The Tale of Safiya and Angelica: The Musical_.

But then, it came the problematic part: that was one hell of a _big_ production for a school, even one as big as Camelot High, and they were noticeably short on staff and cast.

Sophie _could_ , for one, do the work of promoting the club herself, yet, there was another, _more efficient_ , way to get more people to join a club they previously had no interest in whatsoever. Camelot High was populated of, mostly, _sheep_. Therefore, if she could get some of the most influential sheep on her club, the herd mentality would do the rest of the work for her.

As part of the cheer-squad herself, Sophie had some influence over the student body, but for this, she needed to bring out _the big guns_. Which would be a bit hard, as most of those influential sheep didn’t like her and/or barely tolerated her (mostly to keep up appearances). But it wasn’t impossible. At least, it wouldn’t be if she had been _in Camelot_ , attending _their parties_ , and not _here_ , driving up a mountain, listening to Fall Out Boy’s greatest hits.

In Avalon, the only person she’d be able to recruit would be Agatha herself. Which wasn’t _bad_ , Sophie had shared the spotlight with Agatha a few times when they had been younger; Her sister was talented, sure, but Agatha had already made it very clear to Sophie that she never wanted to be in a stage _ever again_ , several times. She’d have an easier time recruiting a bear and teaching it how to tap-dance then getting Agatha on her musical.

Frustrated and in need of a distraction, Sophie unlocks her phone again, opening her instagram page. Her feed finally loads, and Sophie scrolls through it in a bored haze.

…Has an ugly nose, speaks too quietly, is a nerd ( _unfollow_ , why was she following this girl?), has already graduated, who cares about this one…

…Oh, here’s Mr. Second-Best. Chaddick posted a gif of him and his older brother at the gym. _‘Fire emoji’_.

_Hungry for attention, aren’t ya?_

Sophie _likes_ the picture anyway, to avoid a faux pas.

He wasn’t unattractive, of course. No, Chaddick was easily the second hottest guy at school, with his grey eyes, thick brown hair and muscles for days. And as the vice-captain of the basketball team, he’d be a great acquisition for the musical. But Chaddick was an idiot and well, you know what they say about second best… _Second place_ is _the first loser_.

Besides, Sophie is pretty certain he can’t sing. Maybe he could dance…?

…Has no posture, is in a goth phase, ew ( _unfollow_ , who is this?!), wears too much plaid…

… _Bitchy dictator_. Sophie scrolls past the post angrily, without liking it. _Let her feel attacked, see if Sophie cares._

Beatrix had posted an anniversary pic with Reena, the two of them kissing in front of a ferris wheel. _‘Thirteen months with my dream girl <3’_, the caption said.

_Must they do this every month? Ugh, they are just so loud._

You’d think that as a cheerleader herself, Sophie would get along with Beatrix and Reena. Reena was fine, she guessed. Not much to her aside from her very flexible legs and lush dark hair. The real problem was Beatrix.

Beatrix had won the election to be head-cheerleader in the end of sophomore year but she had been tormenting Sophie’s existence long before that. With her soft blonde hair, deep topaz eyes, killer rack, short skirt and angelic complexion, Beatrix was her biggest competitor and they had been at war from the moment they first met as freshmen, both very likely candidates to the title of ‘ _queen of the school_ ’.

A title that, for now, remained to be decided, as to be Camelot High’s _queen_ , one needed the _king_ on their arm.

Sure, you could argue that Beatrix was the default winner, because not only was she now head-cheerleader, but because she had dated the king of the school (even if he had only been _the prince_ , back then) for an awfully short period in freshmen year, before ditching him for Reena. But, honestly, _downgrade much_?

So, at this point, the crown was still up for grabs.

Reena and Beatrix are probably fantastic dancers, Sophie is pretty sure Beatrix _can_ sing and the two of them being part of the drama club would bring in a ton of people, but Sophie knew that Beatrix would rather cut off her own arm than move a perfectly manicured finger to help Sophie.

…Millicent would be an okay addition, but she had, like, the personality equivalent of an adidas sandal, and looked like a piece of paper could be more talented than her, so no…

…Nicholas’ pants were way too tight for a man, but maybe that could mean he would be a good dancer…

…This one is too short, that one has acne…

_Refresh the feed._

Oh, but this one, this one is _just right_.

Tedros Pendragon, her future husband and soulmate, had just posted a new video _. Like and comment with a heart-eyes emoji._

The short video displayed a shirtless, sweaty Tedros practicing basketball in what Sophie assumed was his backyard in the morning. He runs, dribbling an unseen opponent, before shooting the ball through the basket from afar, turning over his shoulder to smirk and wink at the camera. _‘No rest for the wicked’,_ he wrote in the caption.

Beatrix could only have been crazy.

Tedros, in all his teenage golden glory, tall and fit, with his blonde hair, bright blue eyes, gorgeous smile and perfect jaw line, could have been a model. Hottest guy in school, no doubt. Star of the basketball team, elected captain mid-sophomore year, and therefore, crowned _King of Camelot High_. It also helped that everyone knew Tedros was stinking rich and the sole heir to his father’s multimillion-dollar company.

Tedros Pendragon was the full package, top of the top, apex predator.

But to Sophie, he was _prey_.

He’d make the perfect Theo to her Angelica! Oh wouldn’t it be just delicious?

Just imagine: _he’d sing Theo’s solo in ‘The Circus of Talents’, handsome and dreamy, only for the music to drop as he sees her, his lovely Angelica, walk on stage from the right. She walks in, wearing a beautiful blue dress, under the bright lights as the back-up choir sang the chorus of ‘The Snow Ball (reprise)’, nearing the climax of the first act…_ surely then, he’d fall in love with her forever. He just had to. It was a bit of a theater tradition, after all; Theo and Angelica’s actors usually ended up having a showmance, sometimes short-lived, sometimes leading to years and years of marriage.

The tricky part was… Sophie had been trying to get his attention for more than two years now, with… _mixed results_. Back in freshmen year she nearly gotten him to kiss her at the homecoming dance… only for a furious Beatrix to interrupt, dumping a punch bowl over her head, accusing Sophie of trying to steal her boyfriend, which… wasn’t _untrue_. But in her defense, they hadn’t been dating during that time. And since that night… Tedros had slipped through her hands every time she tried to get him alone.

Sophie zooms up the video, focusing on the boy’s moving form. _What would it take to get Tedros Pendragon on her musical…?_

“You are not wasting my data on that snob. Disconnect, you leach,” her sister protests.

“What? You can’t handle some abs?” Sophie mocks, shoving the phone in Agatha’s direct line of vision.

“Get this off my face, Sophie!” Agatha’s frown deepens.

“Oh stop it, you just don’t wanna admit he’s hot!”

“I’m literally trying not to crash your car!”

“Jesus, Agatha, you’re no fun,” Sophie retreats, turning off Agatha’s data and locking both phones.

Honestly, Sophie doesn’t know what’s up with Agatha’s personal vendetta against Tedros Pendragon. She insisted that Tedros was _‘a conceited snobby brat with three braincells tops’_ , which might or might not be true, but Sophie didn’t care either way.

Agatha just likes to hate on things everybody likes, anyway.

The same horrid punk-rock song begins, for what felt like the thirtieth time, and with a loud groan of protest (which Agatha ignored), Sophie decides to go to sleep.

.

.

.

_(July 17th, 2020)_

To say that a ride, in which Sophie spent 70% of the time asleep and the remaining 30% complaining, had been the highlight of her time in Avalon so far might seem like an overstatement, but it truly wasn’t.

When Agatha woke her up, they were already there.

Callis’s apartment was, just as Sophie remembered, nothing special. Clearly meant for one, two-people max, it was a small cozy place with two bedrooms, a single-sized spare bed on the guest room (“I call dibs on the bed,” “Excuse you, respect your elders, I’m older, I get the bed.” “Sophie, we are literally twins!”, Agatha gave Sophie the bed anyway), a small living room with a couch and a coffee table, one bathroom and a middle-sized kitchen. The apartment was located above Callis’ teashop, in the commercial part of the town and was about a 30-minute-walk away from Avalon’s main park, which included Lake Avalon, the town’s namesake. It had cable, but the Wi-Fi was limited to the shop.

There was only so much self-grooming Sophie could get done without her other beauty products (the ones she had leave behind, as they didn’t fit in her three suitcases). Which meant entertainment options were limited to TV, lounging around the shop for Wi-Fi, sleeping, the eventual solo shopping trip, going to the park with Agatha and well, plain old conversation with aunt Callis.

Sophie wasn’t sure on where her opinion lied on their aunt. The two of them didn’t talk much when Agatha wasn’t present, mostly because there wasn’t much to talk about (aside from exchanging some tips and recipes, because Callis’ green juice was just _to die for_ ). Their aunt had never tried to be discreet about playing favorites (unlike their father), which Sophie appreciated.

Considering she wasn’t really their ‘aunt’ but Agatha’s godmother and was not related to them at all, Sophie didn’t really mind. Well, considering that Honora was _Sophie’s_ godmother, and that she now was their _stepmom_ , Sophie couldn’t help but favor Agatha’s over her own, even if Callis clearly preferred Agatha’s company over Sophie’s.

So, for most of the uneventful six weeks they spent here in Avalon, Sophie had hung around the teashop, bored out of her mind, sitting at the booth near the large counter, partly to annoy Agatha, partly because she didn’t know anyone else and every single person who walked in was at least 40. Time had passed unbelievably slowly, but eventually, it was finally the day before their father returned to Camelot, and therefore, the day before they’d be able to return themselves.

If both of them had been completely idle during those weeks, Sophie was sure they could have found _something_ to do in this small-ass-mountain-town _but nooo_ … Around day three, Agatha decided she would start a part-time at the shop to pay part of her ticket to play at nationals this year (if their team managed to get that far, but they had _Agatha_ , so they probably would). Which basically meant Agatha wearing a green apron, stuck for most of the afternoon behind the counter, looking just as bored as Sophie, but unable to leave, even if she wasn’t doing much working, considering that clientele around here was… Well, slow.

Sophie couldn’t understand why Agatha needed to make everything so difficult. If she truly wanted money to go play at nationals, she could just ask father. Sophie doubted he would deny _her_. If she wanted to go spend 8 weeks at volleyball camp, she could have just said so and let Sophie deal with the cruise by−

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” Agatha mocks her, passing by her booth with a cup of herbal tea for a middle-aged man seated near the front.

Sophie feels up her forehead, trying to correct her expression, checking herself on her phone just to be sure she didn’t magically age 20 years.

“I’m bored,” she announces, dramatically sliding down on her seat, as Agatha makes her way back to the counter, “bring me some of that green juice from earlier.”

“You have legs, go get it yourself.”

“You work here!”

“And you live here!”

“Which means I get green juice on the house!”

“Exactly, _on the house_. As in, it’s upstairs, go get it!

This could have honestly gone on forever had it not been for an awkward cough to their right.

A woman in her early forties, dressed in a light brown trench coat, stood by the end of the counter.

“Hm, hello. Can I help you?” Agatha shifted her attention from Sophie to the stranger, trying her best to not look annoyed or come across as rude as she approached her, going to stand behind the register.

“Oh, yes. Is Callis not here today?”

“…She’s upstairs,” her sister replied slowly, confused. “Do you want me to call her for you?” 

“If you could, dear, please,”

“Would you like to order something while you wait or…?

“Chamomile. Medium.”

“Sugar?”

“Oh, no. No sugar, thank you.”

“Alright, then. I’ll, hm, go call her.”

Agatha gives Sophie a pointed look, before turning on her heels and disappearing through the backdoor that led towards the stairs.

Sophie takes the opportunity to sit up straighter on her small booth, assessing the stranger.

The woman looked fairly plain, like she had been very pretty once, but was past her peak, like many other forty-something women that came into the shop in the last few weeks. Still, something about her seemed very… _fa_ _miliar_ to Sophie. _Was it her brown hair? Her thick eyebrows? Her blue eyes?_ Sophie had seen her before somewhere… Maybe she owned one of the small boutiques Sophie had explored last week? But that coat… Sophie knew designer items when she saw them. That was a very, very expensive coat for just your average Avalon citizen.

As if feeling her stare, the stranger turned to Sophie.

Before either of them can say anything, Callis appears, holding a cup of what Sophie assumed was chamomile tea with no sugar. She was tailed by a curious-looking Agatha, who had a glass of green juice in her hand, which she begrudgery put down in front of Sophie, casually leaning against her booth. Sophie accepts the drink with a barely controlled indolent smirk, the two of them facing the window, glancing at the conversation between Callis and the stranger out of the corner of their eyes, trying their best to look inconspicuous.

“Hello, Guinevere,” their aunt greets the woman, Guinevere, apparently, “it’s been a while. What brings you here?”

“Yeah, it has. It’s good to see you. You wouldn’t have some more of that ointment for sore muscles you made me last time lying around, would you?”

“No, but I could make some more,” Callis lifts a brow. “Run out already? Lancelot’s been doing some heavy woodwork for the house again, I take?

Guinevere sips her tea with a fond smile.

“Oh, no. My son is staying with us for the summer and he and Lance have been playing basketball often. It’s good to see them bonding, even if it makes Lance think he still has the back of a teenager.”

“Guess we’ve all been busy these days... Guinevere, meet my very nosy nieces, who probably think they are being discreet: Agatha,” Callis nods vaguely in her sister’s direction and then hers, “and Sophie.”

Startled at being called out, both girls greet Guinevere: Sophie with a mildly embarrassed smile and Agatha with an uncomfortable wave.

Guinevere smiles and waves back at them.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t know Callis had nieces… How has Avalon been treating you so far…?”

“…It’s been, hm…” Agatha nudges Sophie behind her back.

“… Fun… Yeah, it’s been fun,” Sophie lies with a sweet smile.

Callis chuckles and Guinevere looks amused.

“Not much to do around here, hm?”

“No, not really, no,” Sophie replies instantaneously.

“Well, if you girls are interested, my son’s throwing a small party at our house tonight. He’s spent a couple of summers here, could introduce you to some of the younger people,” she offers.

Sophie and Agatha exchange a look.

Sophie wants to turn down the invitation, to say that she had better things to do then attend what probably was the Avalon equivalent of a book club meeting, but pathetically, she actually doesn’t. Which makes it even more vital that she turns it down, because she was _Sophie Woods_ , president of the drama club, cheerleader, Tedros’ Pendragon future wif−

Agatha kicks her in the shin before she can say a word.

“Oh, we were planning to have a, hm, _sleepover_ , tonight, but, hm, we’ll think about it!” her sister mumbles over Sophie’s pained and confused moan.

“Alright,” Guinevere thankfully doesn’t insist, “if you change your mind, Callis has my address.” She then turns to their aunt: “How much do I own you for the tea and the ointment?”

Callis lifted a hand to stop her from digging into her purse.

“The ointment should be ready by sunday afternoon, we can settle it when you come get it.”

“Then I see you on sunday,” she smiles at their aunt, turning to leave before changing her mind just as she reached the door. “Oh, and it was very nice to meet you two!” she waves one more time.

Both Agatha and Sophie make an agreeing noise, waving back.

All three women watch through the big window as Guinevere leaves, in silence.

“ _Sleepover_?” Callis lifts a brow, crossing her arms.

Sophie groans, sliding back down on her seat, and Agatha shrugs, going back to the register. Their aunt snorts, disappearing out the back again.

.

.

.

A few hours later, Sophie audibly choked on her freshly made green juice.

Granted, it wasn’t as good as Callis’, Sophie was still working on how to get that bittersweetness at the end _just right_ but she had been making some progress on her secondary summer mission: _learning how to replicate her aunt’s magical green juice perfectly_. Callis, whom had been seating on the kitchen counter sorting out her taxes barely spares her a look.

“Too much kale?”

Sophie doesn’t answer. It had nothing to do with the green juice. Thank God she had such great memory.

“What’s Guinevere’s address?”

Now _that_ makes Callis look up.

“2904 Lake St.,” she lifts a brow, biting back a smirk. “It’s the big white and blue house right by the lake, you can’t miss it,”

Sophie is already halfway down the stairs.

Her sudden arrival startles Agatha, whose shift had ended a few minutes ago and had been lying down in a booth nearby, enjoying the free Wi-Fi. Her sister’s phone escapes her hand, hitting her straight on the face.

“What?!” she frowns, holding her nose.

Sophie _shrieks_.

_All these weeks wasted, just not for the reason she thought they were…_

Well, she wasn’t gonna lose any more time.

“Did you bring that pretty blue sweater of yours and those skinny ripped black pants I told you pack?”

“I, what…I only packed the sweater. Why?” Agatha replies automatically, like a startled animal, crossing her arms defensively.

“Why didn’t you pack the pants?! You look great on those, Aggie!”

“It’s freezing outside! They’re too tight for me to wear tights underneath, where− why would I even wear them here?!”

“To attend this party, come on, go take a shower, quick,” Sophie informs, grabbing a confused Agatha by the forearm and dragging her out of the booth. “Fortunately for you, I always have a spare emergency skirt and it matches that sweater. Also, those black tights you washed last week should pair up fine as well.”

“Why would you wear a skirt to an emerg… What party?” she asks, horrified.

“Tedros Pendragon’s!”

Agatha pulls back her arm forcefully from Sophie’s iron grip.

“Absolutely not!” she hisses. “I am not going to drive you all the way back to Camelot to go to a stupid party!”

“Well, lucky you, you don’t have to! His mom invited us; it would be rude not to show up!”

Her sister gives her a long stare, like Sophie had just lost her mind and Agatha wasn’t sure what to do with her. She massages her temples, as if she could feel a headache coming.

It happened quite often.

“ _God, why are you always so difficult_?” Sophie sighs.

Agatha rolls her eyes.

“Let’s take it from top; you think Tedros Pendragon is Guinevere’s son based on…?”

Sophie pulls out her phone, scrolling through Tedros’ profile, opening a picture and shoving the device in Agatha’s face.

“I knew I she looked familiar, see?”

The picture is a selfie of Tedros, presumably in his living room. The caption says, _‘taking it easy ;)’._

“What am I supposed to be seeing? His bone-structure?” her sister squints, “I guess their noses do look a bit similar but…?”

“What?” Sophie exclaims, taking back the phone and zooming the picture, “I mean, yeah, I guess… But look over here!”

Sure enough, in the corner of the picture, just behind Tedros’ golden locks, there’s a blurry reflection in a mirror. It’s a woman, with brown hair, wearing a light brown coat.

Agatha’s frown deepens.

“I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

Sophie ignores her.

“See? It’s that same coat she wore today!”

“Lots of people have similar coats, Sophie.”

“It’s designer! A Briar Beauty limited edition!” Sophie explains. “And look, they even have the same body shape! It’s Guinevere!”

“… You don’t know if she’s actually his mother…” her sister insists weakly.

“Well, no,” she admits, “but even if he isn’t her son, he’s here and probably going to be at this party! And so are we!”

Agatha straightens to her full height, glaring at her while crossing her arms. At 5’11, her sister towered over Sophie’s 5’6 easily, and had she pulled this on anyone else, they might have actually been intimidated.

“ _No_.”

“Aggie, please!”

“No!” she insists.

Sophie frowns.

“Okay,” she mutters, with tearful eyes, “but I’m going!”

Agatha stands her ground, unmoving.

“To a party at stranger’s house! Where I don’t know anyone!”

Nothing.

“In a city I don’t know.”

Agatha flinched.

“By myself.”

She turns on her heels, dramatically dragging herself up the stairs.

“You know, if anything horrible happens to me, it’s gonna be on you.”

1…

2…

3… and…

“Fine,” Agatha grits her teeth, “I’ll go with you, you emotional terrorist!”

Sophie turns around with a fierce shark smile.

“Knew you’d come around! Go take a shower, chop chop!”

Agatha’s glare intensifies, before she walks past her, stomping up the stairs in her clumps.

“You’re both going then?” Sophie hears Callis mock, amused.

Her sister ignores their aunt, slamming the bathroom door loudly. And people say _Sophie_ is the dramatic twin, hm.

When Sophie appears upstairs, Callis is still doing her taxes on the kitchen counter, unbothered as always. Sophie drinks the rest of her green juice (maybe it did have too much kale after all), putting the glass on the sink and was about to walk away into the bedroom when her aunt warns her:

“No drinking. No drugs. If you’re not back by 2am, I’m telling your father.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sophie closes the door to the guest bedroom, looking herself in the mirror. _So much to do, so little time…_

Reopening her recently packed clothes-suitcase, she sets the black skirt for Agatha aside, before laying out a few (too many) outfits for herself on the bed. She could not afford to not look her best tonight.

She can’t believe her luck. What are the odds she and Tedros are trapped in the same small mountain town during summer! If that isn’t the ultimate universal proof that they are soulmates, she doesn’t know what is! No distractions! No stupid Beatrix whispering in his ear! No idiot friends telling him lies about her!

Just like in freshmen year… Didn’t she wear a pink dress to homecoming in freshmen year...? She did!

Her mother always told her that men were visual creatures: _w_ _hen meeting an ex you might wanna get back with, you wear the color you wore when he was most bewitched by you!_

So pink it was.

Finally, she’s back on the right track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so that happend. I changed a few things from my original AU (which you can find on my tumblr ;)) but if you've read that, then you know what's happening next chapter.
> 
> See y'all soon, stay safe!


	2. the party you don't wanna miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, in WSF:  
> Sister pair extraordinaire Sophie and Agatha Woods take a road-trip up the mountain to spend a few weeks at the ever peaceful city of Avalon. Their stay is nearly over, when your favorite neutral evil twin figures out that her crush, Tedros Pendragon, might or might not be throwing a party that night...Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> First things first: Thank you for all your love and support! You are the reason why I was able to update so soon, I'm so happy that people liked this! Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, bookmarked and/or subscribed!  
> Considering both my real life experiences and the books, I’ve decided that the legal age (to drink, drive, consent, go to prision and be crowned king) in this fictional country is 16. No, this is not relevant to the story overall, but since it does come up during this chapter and it’s a head-canon I established on my works, I thought I’d mention, just in case anyone got confused.  
> Also, I really be coming here and saying tall!tedros rights, for the sake of consistency, which apparently not even the source material had, because I just found out Troy Bolton was 5’8 and somehow was a basketball icon.
> 
> \- Warning  
> During the third part of this chapter, there is a scene in which a character has a minor panic attack. It’s nothing major, but if reading that type of scene is triggering to you, you can skip the third part straight to the forth and I’ll provide a summary of what happens in the scene on the end notes of this chapter. Please, stay safe.

_(July 17th, 2020)_

Agatha isn’t surprised at all when Sophie insists on choosing her clothes, curling her hair and doing her liner for the party.

As Sophie’s sister, Agatha has developed a very high tolerance for her bullshit and knew how to choose her battles wisely. Having served as Sophie’s guinea pig for her multiple cosmetic-related experiments over the years (including the one time Sophie accidentally dyed Agatha’s hair _bright orange_ ), there wasn’t really much Sophie could do to faze her in that department anymore.

As long as Agatha didn’t look _terrible_ , it was _fine_. And it did take Sophie quite a while to get her ready, before shoving Agatha out of the room to get _herself_ ready, which meant they’d be leaving the house way later than Agatha expected and, therefore, spend less time at the party, so, it was technically a win-win.

Aside from Sophie’s skirt being (predictably, due to their noticeable height difference) a bit _too short_ for her (“No.” “C’mon, you’ll wear tights underneath!” “They’re tights, not leggings, Sophie!”, Agatha ended up wearing the skirt) she didn’ feel _too_ _uncomfortable_. Probably because she got to wear her clumps, despite Sophie’s protest that they did not match the outfit at all, and was wearing a black parka over the ensemble.

Agatha isn’t surprised that she let Sophie guilt her into going to Tedros’ house party either. Well, _allegedly_ Tedros’ house party anyway. It didn’t mean she was _happy_ about it, but honestly Agatha was actually surprised that it took that long for Sophie to find _something_ to drag them into. Summer at Avalon had been so far… awfully quiet and peaceful, to the point she’d been starting to get suspicious.

Staying at Avalon for six weeks wouldn’t have been Agatha’s top pick for ‘best summer ever’ but all things considered, it could have gone a lot worse. Even if she was still resentful that she didn’t go to Netherwood for the volleyball-summer-training-program.

She didn’t get to go last summer either, because it had been too expensive, so Agatha had been excited when Coach Dovey told her that she had a friend on their HR department that could get her a fully funded scholarship for her to go this year. Dot, Anadil and Hester had told her all kinds of good things about it and not only them, but every other girl on the varsity team was going to be there this summer, as well as many of their future competitors from other schools.

Which made it all more devastating when Agatha had to tell them that she had a… _change of mind_ , last minute. It also didn’t look too good for her reputation as a newly elected co-captain, but she guessed she’d just have to train twice as hard when she got back to Camelot to make up for the weeks she lost.

Honestly the worst part was that Sophie didn’t even acknowledge just how much this entire thing had cost Agatha. She didn’t want her sister to fawn over her and fall at her feet with gratitude or anything, but she could have a least said ‘thank you’ instead of just assuming that Agatha going to Avalon with her had been unavoidable collateral damage.

Which, _it hadn’t._ Well, not _completely_ unavoidable anyway.

When their father and Honora announced over dinner that they decided to take a cruise with Adam and Jacob, she didn’t really think much of it. Agatha had already gotten Stefan’s approval to go to Netherwood, so she wasn’t too concerned with their plans for the summer. But _Sophie?_ Sophie had nearly blown a fuse. So, their father gave her sister an ultimatum: Sophie had to find somewhere to stay for six weeks (which she didn’t have), or she’d be forced to go to the Bahamas with them.

Despite Sophie’s best efforts to hide it, Agatha knows her sister is not nearly as tough as she likes people to believe she is. Their mother’s death two years ago had affected them differently, and it had been especially hard on Sophie, whom, unlike Agatha, had been very close with her, even after their parents divorced and they went to live with their father, when they were seven. Letting Sophie go on that cruise with their father and stepfamily _by herself_ would be like _abandoning her_.

So, Agatha made a deal with Stefan: instead of him dragging Sophie to the cruise and having her wreak havoc on that ship, he’d let them stay with Callis for those six weeks and part of the money he’d save on Sophie’s ticket would go towards Agatha’s expenses during championship season, regionals and nationals in particular.

And so, the summer saga at Avalon had begun.

Volleyball related issues aside, it had been good to be able to spend some time with Callis. Agatha doesn’t like the fact that she lives so far, especially all by herself, and had already planned to come see her after the program ended to check on things, but, as usual, Callis had it all under control. They talked over the phone often enough, but no amount of phone calls could compete with her aunt’s legendary vegetarian lasagna.

Agatha is sitting on the counter, mindlessly playing a game on her phone while waiting for Sophie, metaphorically feeling her last braincells die, which was a good indicative of how this night would probably turn out. On the other end of the kitchen counter, Callis battled against the two mountains of paperwork before her. The apartment is completely silent, save for the low scratch of her aunt’s pencil against the tax papers and the eventual odd noise coming from the guest room of Sophie dolling herself up.

Suddenly, Agatha’s ringtone fills the room, obnoxiously loudly. The game automatically pauses as her screen goes grey, giving way to two symbols: one green and one red. The caller's name flashes in white and Agatha hesitates.

“You should get that,” Callis tells her, without moving her focus away from her work.

Agatha hits the red button. _Decline_.

The older woman doesn’t say anything, or even look at her, but she can feel her disapproval.

Agatha’s game unfreezes itself, but as she makes no move to save the small icon of her character, it crashes and dies tragically in a wall of lava in level 98. _Game over_.

Closing the game, her phone warns her it has 30% of battery power. _Dismiss_.

Frustrated, she locks her phone, propping one elbow on the counter, leaning her cheek into her palm. She watches Callis scribble numbers on the margins of the current page she’s checking, every so often typing them in her calculator, without uttering a single word.

Perhaps her aunt had finally grown tired of enabling Agatha’s avoidant behavior for this entire summer, because when she looks up from her taxes, she asks Agatha the same question she had asked her on the first night she’d arrived, back at the beginning of june:

“So, is Hester dating that middle blocker or is there still something between you two?” No sugarcoating whatsoever, as usual. Her aunt looks straight through her, over the rim of her reading glasses. She’ll know if Agatha lies. _She somehow always does_.

“I don’t know...” Agatha answers evasively, averting her gaze, frowning at the, suddenly very interesting, mismatched titles above the sink. She fiddles with the phone in her hand, the screen flashing to inform her she had a missed call from Hester. _Dismiss_.

Callis lifts a brow, her dark eyes sharp.

“You don’t know if they’re _dating_ or you don’t know if there’s still _something_ between you?

“I… Both. Neither, I guess. I wouldn’t know.”

In her defense, she knew there was _something_. Agatha just wasn’t sure what it was.

Things between Agatha and Hester had been murky ever since they broke up after losing the semi-final at nationals back in march, and perhaps, way before that. She wouldn’t call their break-up _bad_ , per se, but then again, it’s not like Agatha had any other break-ups to compare it to.

They just kind of… had to push their feelings aside and instantaneously get over it, because Ella (their old senior captain) graduated and they were appointed as the new co-captains, so Agatha and Hester couldn’t really afford to be messy. Thankfully, since they were out of the run for the championship, training had been toned down and summer vacation had been right around the corner, so it hadn’t been _painfully obvious_ for everyone else just how out of sync they were.

As for Anadil… Well, Agatha liked her well enough when Hester had introduced them on the first day of sophomore year and grew to appreciate her friendship over the year. She was a fantastic volleyball player and a great addition to their team overall. But… it didn’t really take that long for Agatha’s jealous streak to start whispering on her ear and she just… wasn’t sure what was paranoia and what was actual intuition. Not that it mattered at this point. Hester wasn’t her girlfriend anymore, so it wasn’t any of Agatha’s business if she had asked Anadil out or not.

_Who cares that they are both at Netherwood at this very moment, right?_

“You could, you know,” Callis sighs exhaustedly, as if Agatha’s angsty-ness had drained her in a way the paperwork could only dream of doing. She gives Agatha a final pointed look, before going back to the taxes. “If you _talked_ to her. Didn’t you say you were going to?”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Agatha did know. But it was… complicated.

Her aunt had given her some very solid advice over the years. Usually, Agatha listened to her, and so far, Callis had yet to lead her astray. She had been the one to suggest Agatha joined the school volleyball club in fourth grade, the one who supported her decision quit her dancing lessons (against her mother’s wishes) in seventh grade and the one who encouraged Agatha to ask Hester out in freshmen year. All these had been great life choices that brought Agatha a lot of joy.

But… Agatha and Hester had ended the school year in this _very_ fragile limbo, especially after Agatha told her she wouldn’t be going to the Netherwood program and… she just… wasn’t ready to reopen that wound just yet.

Callis’ mouth is compressed into a thin line, as if she wanted to say something else but a loud _slam_ noise coming from the bedroom interrupts their uncomfortable silence. Both women turn their heads in that direction, out of instinct, only to be presented with the sight of a fully night-out-ready Sophie.

“Let’s go!” Sophie grabs Agatha by her forearm, pulling her out of her chair, jiggling her car keys.

Agatha has never been so glad for her sister’s inability to read a room in her life.

“Aren’t you going to grab a coat?” Agatha questions, checking her sister’s choice of outfit. Sophie was clad in a frilly watermelon pink summer dress, over a long-sleeved white shirt and some thin grey tights, matching her small purse to her brown leather boots. She looked lovely, of course, but she also looked like she was going to freeze as soon as she stepped outside.

“It’s a house party, meaning, the party is inside the house. Besides, I left my Red Riding Hood exclusive collection cape at home and none of the others match. C’mom, we’re late!”

Sophie is already halfway down the stairs when she yells, perhaps a bit belated: “Bye, aunt Callis!”

Agatha sighs, tightening her parka around herself and pulling up the hood.

“Agatha,” Callis calls her before she can follow her sister, “take that.”

Her aunt points to a small package on top off the microwave.

Agatha gives her a questioning look. Callis shrugs.

“Cookies,” she answers, “never go to a party empty-handed.”

.

.

.

 _‘My son’s throwing a small party at our house tonight’_ , Guinevere had told them.

Well, that was one way to put it.

During the last few weeks, Agatha had been to Avalon’s main park many times, mostly by herself, to jog after her shift, though sometimes Sophie joined her and they ended up lying on the green grass by the lake’s shore to watch the sunset. Agatha had passed by the white and blue house quite a few times, but she doesn’t think she has ever witnessed it looking like _that_. Granted, Agatha had never jogged by that house at 8 p.m. on a friday, but her point still remained.

During her jogs, she had thought it was a bit of a big house. Now, after they drove right by the open wooden gate, looking for a parking spot, and Agatha had seen the front façade, she had a different opinion. The shock causes her to step on the break a bit too suddenly, but Sophie doesn’t seem to notice that Agatha had nearly crashed her car, equally frozen.

Honestly, if this truly was Tedros Pendragon’s _holiday_ home, it only added insult to injury.

It wasn’t as much of a _big house_ as it was a _freaking mansion_.

2904 Lake St. looked like it could have been ripped out of an Architectural Digest article and Agatha doesn’t even dare google it to see if she can find its floor plan on Arch Daily, just in case that she actually does. First of all, it had a fountain on its front lawn. Which should be sign number one you’re at a really fancy house or something. But just in case you didn’t get the hint, you had the _huge mansion_ behind it. The two-store building rose tall and imponent, with pristine detailed columns and french-inspired doors and windows, it’s main foundation in stone, contrasting nicely with the dark navy blue of the intricate roof. A side path led to what Agatha supposed was a large garden, probably with a pool and deck area, and (if Sophie’s theory that this place had been the background of Tedros’ posts lately) an outdoor basketball court.

For a fraction of a second, she wonders if maybe Callis had pranked them, sending them to the wrong address on purpose, but Agatha doesn’t think Callis knows what the word ‘prank’ means.

Then, Agatha notices the ‘ _small party_ ’ part.

Every single room visible from the street is lit up by colored changing lights and Agatha can see numerous silhouettes through the translucent curtains. At the lawn, a few dozens of teenagers talked loudly, some by the front steps, others sitting on the lawn, holding infamous red cups. An indistinguishable song plays in the background, not deafening enough to warrant a complain call, but audible from afar all the same. The big double doors are open-wide and Agatha can see more people inside, dancing, walking around, eating and pretty much looking like they’re having the time of their lives.

Agatha feels her stomach drop, a hundred questions popping-up in her mind. There is no way someone could live in a house like that, in Avalon’s most sought-after neighborhood, right by the lake, throw a party midsummer for no reason at all, and, like, not be involved in at least two money laundering schemes. What did Guinevere even do for a living? How much did it cost her monthly just to maintain this place? It’s an awfully big house for just Guinevere and Lancelot (whom Agatha assumed was her current husband) and the occasional visit of her teenage son (who might or might not be Tedros Pendragon). Maybe Guinevere inherited the place? But still, inherited it from whom, _a mob boss_? Who−

“Unlock the door!” Sophie shrieks, fumbling with the car’s lock, bringing Agatha back from her dazed state.

The black vehicle behind them honks, attracting the attention of the teens outside the house.

“What!? Sophie I can’t just park here!”

“Then go park the car somewhere!” she replies, opening the door and stepping out. “S-shit, w-why is it so freaking cold?!”

Agatha’s hands grip the steering wheel, resisting the urge to grip Sophie’s throat and strangle her instead. The car behind her honks again and Agatha honks back aggressively. People started to point; all buzzing conversation now interrupted.

“Get. Back. In. The. Car.”

“Agatha, I’m freezing, I’m gonna go inside!” Sophie insists, slamming her door shut, turning on her heels and walking in the mansion’s direction, rubbing her arms.

That headache from earlier, it’s back.

Agatha rolls her eyes so intensely she thinks she might have seen her own brain, before driving away.

This is such a classic Sophie-move that Agatha cannot even bring herself to fake surprise anymore. Leave it to Sophie to rope Agatha into going to a party and then ditching her before they even walk in! Why even bother making Agatha come at all then?! If all Sophie wanted was a ride, she could have spared the guilt trip and just said so?

As usual, Sophie only ever thought of _herself_.

Agatha makes a turns, leading the car back to the main avenue, leaving Lake St. behind, headed back for Callis’ apartment.

Sophie wanted to party? Let her party then! _Who cares_! Agatha was going home early, by herself, to sleep comfortably in the spare bed for once! While Sophie did god-knows-what at this party with god-knows-who and got back god-knows-how probably on foot, in the middle of the nig−

With a heavy sigh, Agatha does a U-turn, back to Lake St.

Sophie might have been born a few minutes before her, but Agatha had always been the one taking care of her. Sophie got them into trouble and Agatha got them out if it. That’s just how things were. She would not be at peace if she went home without her. Sophie might be an egoistic little brat, but she was still Agatha’s sister. She would never forgive herself if something actually happened to her.

It takes her 5 minutes to find a parking spot and, embarrassingly, a lot more than 5 minutes for her to perfectly parallel park Sophie’s car. Agatha is a good driver overall, but since she doesn’t have a car, she doesn’t get to put her skills to use often. She probably did more driving this summer than she did ever since getting her license.

She reaches for the cookies on the backseat, and as she does, Agatha feels her temper rising again.

 _What kind of idiot_ −

Leave it to Sophie to rope Agatha into going to a party, ditching her before they even walked in and then forgetting her own purse, containing her phone, credit card, cash and ID.

Agatha swallows her frustration, packing the cookies into her own bag, deciding to focus on locking the car and getting to the party.

She strolls gingerly by the gate, almost as if expecting someone to stop her. Obviously, no one does, but Agatha does attract a few curious looks. Expected, since Avalon was a relatively small town and everyone probably knew each other, but unwelcome all the same. She walks past the fountain, containing an eye roll at the fancy lawn décor, passing by the kids at the front steps and crossing the doorway.

Inside, Agatha is split between frantically looking around for Sophie and not lifting her head, least she makes eye-contact with someone. She stands in the entrance hall, shuffling her weight between one leg and the other, unsure of where she should go next. Sophie would turn into a popsicle if she stayed outside, so that ruled out the backyard and garden area, but the living room alone looks like it could fit half of their house, so at this point her sister could be anywhere.

_If Agatha were Sophie, were would she go…?_

… After Tedros. Who was the host. _Allegedly_. And was probably very busy, checking on stuff, doing host-y things…?

Agatha wouldn’t know, she never hosted a party in her entire life.

Well, she needs to go _somewhere_ , she couldn’t just stand in the entrance hall all night.

.

.

.

 _Somewhere_ turned out to be the ridiculously oversized second-floor lavatory.

After aimlessly walking around the mansion, trying not to look too obviously out of her element, hoping to bump into Sophie, for about twenty minutes, Agatha felt her slowly growing sense of uneasiness suddenly spiraling out of control. There were a lot more people than she thought there were going to be at this party and they kept on arriving. It was stressing her out.

Maybe Sophie had been onto something when she left the apartment without a coat, because the combination of mansion’s powerful heating system, the crazy amount of human warmth and her very efficient parka wasn’t a good one. It also did not help that Agatha was not a fan of big crowds, knew absolutely no one here and had no idea where her sister was.

Despite feeling unbearably hot, a cold tingling sensation ran down her back, filing Agatha with dread.

She needed a strategic retreat. She needed a _game plan_.

And more urgently than that, Agatha needed to sit down somewhere quiet, because her breathing was starting to accelerate, she felt slight nauseous and the last thing she wanted to do was to pass out in front of all these strangers.

Agatha made her way back to the entrance hall, climbed the staircase and locked herself on the first empty room she found, which just so happened to be a lavatory, even if a very spacious one.

She opened the small window, the fresh cold air of Lake Avalon greeting her. Agatha takes off her parka, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater to her elbows and throwing her bag aside. Agatha wasn’t the type to sweat a lot, but the thin layer of dampness on her body made her briefly wonder if the liner Sophie used on her was waterproof.

Propping her hands on the white marble sink countertop ( _of course_ it’d be white marble), she focuses on getting her breathing pattern under control. _Deep, long breaths_. Sophie was bound to notice that she didn’t have her phone on her soon, if she hadn’t already. Maybe she’d ask someone to borrow their phone and text Agatha when she wanted to leave. She could just hang in here until Sophie wanted to leave. It’d be fine. Everything was going to be oka−

A soft knock on the door interrupts Agatha.

“Agatha? Are you in there?”

For a moment, Agatha wonders if it’s Sophie, before her brain make the connection between the speaker and the voice.

“Yeah,” she answers quietly.

“Can I come in?”

She takes one last long breath, before getting up and opening the door for Guinevere.

Aside from missing her coat, Guinevere looks exactly as she did earlier in the shop, perhaps a bit more tired. She offers Agatha a sympathetic smile and a glass of water, which Agatha takes, gratefully, before hesitantly making way for the older woman to come inside the lavatory.

Guinevere closes the door behind her, leaning her hip on the sink countertop, as if waiting for Agatha to speak first, after she finishes the glass. When she doesn’t say anything, Guinevere relents.

“I take you’re not a party person either?”

“Not really,” Agatha replies, fiddling with the glass. “I’m looking for Sophie...”

It sounded a bit more like a question then a statement.

“I saw her earlier, at the dinning room talking to some girls,” Guinevere tells her, and Agatha sighs, relieved. “Sleepover canceled?” she jokes, half-heartily.

“Yeah, change of plans,” Agatha pauses, before whispering. “Thank you.”

Guinevere smiles.

“You’re welcome," she takes back the glass. Her tone is very calming and straightforward, reminding Agatha of Callis’ voice. "I thought you could use some help.” 

“… Do you… hm, do this a lot?”

The older woman seems to find her question odd. It occurs to Agatha that maybe she’s not sure if Agatha meant _‘helping people in general’_ or _‘bringing water to teenage girls who nearly faint in the middle of her home’_. Honestly she's not sure what she meant either.

“My son loves throwing parties. He’s a very extroverted person,” Guinevere hands her a face towel, “but all kids are different. Over the years, I picked up on some things.”

Agatha wipes her face with shaky hands, careful not to disturb the make-up _too much_.

“So you have a lot of experience playing supervisor, then?” she asks, trying to lighten up the heavy atmosphere. “Must be hard keeping us, _rowdy teens_ , under control.”

Guinevere chuckles, picking up Agatha’s bag from where she had thrown it, across the room.

“Most kids here are over 16, so we allow moderate drinking, but Lance and I do our best to supervise,” she sets the bag on the counter. “Just, you know, making sure it doesn’t get _too wild_. Tonight, there’s not as many people, so it’s easier. A lot of kids went traveling this summer.”

If this is what she calls _‘not as many people’_ , Agatha thinks she just might skip any future invitations.

“So this _is_ a _small party_ , after all,” she manages a shy smile.

“Oh, yes. But truly, I’d rather deal with you, _rowdy teens_ , then actual kids,” Guinevere smiles fondly, like she had at the teashop earlier, while folding Agatha’s discarded parka. “You should have seen Tedros’ 9th birthday: hundreds of toddlers high on sugar, running around, bouncing off the walls, wreaking havoc. Now _that_ was one wild party.”

Agatha’s smile falls apart.

Unless the universe was playing a huge joke on her, and Guinevere’s son just so happened to share a name with the basketball team captain of Camelot High, Sophie’s theory that this was, in fact, Tedros Pendragon’s midsummer party had been confirmed. Agatha wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“Sounds like it,” Agatha replies, “any survival tips?”

Guinevere looked thoughtful.

“We have this sort of lounge room on the basement, it’s the fourth door to the left after you go back to the entrance hall. It has a pool table. Usually it’s used for games: twister competitions, pool tournaments, charades, that sort of thing. It’s a lot quieter than the upper levels of the house and there’s a food table, though it might have already been raided by now,” she hesitates before continuing, “Agatha, are you sure you don’t wanna go home? I’ll give you a ride. I can take Sophie home later.”

Guinevere’s offer is very tempting. Agatha thinks about the spare bed she could be napping on, the tea she could be drinking, the call to Hester she could and should, but probably wouldn’t be making.

She… doesn’t want to leave just yet.

“I... Yeah, I’m sure…”

The older woman looks like she wants to insist, but Agatha gives her a reassuring look.

“I’m pretty good at billiards. That basement lounge sounds like fun.”

Guinevere sighs.

“Well, since you’re staying, I’ll put your coat on the coat closet. It’s the blue door right next to the entrance, if you can’t find me before you leave,” she pats the, now perfectly folded, parka in her arms. She opens the door. “I’ll tell Sophie to look for you in the lounge if I bump into her again. Take your time, Agatha.”

She is about to close the door when Agatha feels the need to call her again.

“Guinevere...”

Agatha wants to say 'thank you' again, to tell her how much she appreciated her help and how it was awfully nice of her to waste her night supervising _rowdy teenagers_ who attended her son’s party, especially ones she barely even knew.

“…Cookies. I, my aunt… My aunt told me to bring cookies. They’re, hm, vegan. And sugar-free. Where do I put them?” Agatha asks instead.

Guinevere gives Agatha a knowing smirk.

“Vegan _and_ sugar-free? Sounds like Callis. Take them to the basement with you. I’m sure the hungry rowdy teens will feast on them.”

The lavatory door closes, and Agatha is alone with her thoughts again.

Tedros’ mother is great. _Of course she’d be great_.

And now, Agatha felt like she owned her something.

Agatha’s dislike of Tedros Pendragon is no secret, but truly, it wasn’t anything personal. She doesn’t know _Tedros_ , but she knows people _like Tedros_ , and truly there isn’t much you need to know about people like that. They were the people who felt entitled to everything because they had a certain surname. People who think money makes you special and makes you better than other people.

Again, she had never uttered a single word to Tedros Pendragon, despite the fact that they have shared five classes during the last two years. But one does not need to talk to Tedros to know that his father was Camelot High’s biggest sponsor.

She just thought it very _curious_ really, that despite the fact that the volleyball team had been at nationals _for three years in a row_ (and could have probably won if they had more resources), ever since Tedros made it in the basketball team (who was the top team of the state, sure, but never got past regionals) their share of the sports budget grew _exponentially_. Even more _curious_ that the basketball team had won the lucky draw to have _exclusive access_ to the school's best gym during the _very disputed_ free period for two years straight.

And Agatha could also mention the fact that despite Tedros being a great player (Agatha _had_ been to a few games to see Sophie cheer), he was the first sophomore to made captain of any sports team in the school. Even though the old captain _hadn’t graduated_ and Tedros (although 6’0) was one of their shortest players. However, Agatha does not claim to know how basketball teams operate, and so she didn’t think it was her place to point _this_ part out. It was still true though.

No, Agatha was lot more concerned with the budget part. She did not care if Tedros Pendragon pulled a Draco Malfoy and had his dad sponsor the team, neither did she care if he bought the captain title. Truly, _if he did_ , more power to him, it wasn’t any of her business. But from the moment that Pendragon doing that meant that the school couldn’t afford to send the volleyball team to their competitions, when they trained probably twice as hard as any other team on the department, it became her business and Agatha could not let it slide.

Yet now, she was indebted (even if only on her head) to his mother, whom she probably wouldn’t see again for a long time. And Agatha _hated_ owning people favors. If Guinevere was cool, then Tedros couldn’t be half bad. But then again, Stefan and Honora were good-ish parents. Agatha turned out fine. Sophie… Well, at least it was a 50/50 chance, right?

Agatha sighed.

 _Fine_ , if the need ever came, she’d do _something nice_ for Tedros Pendragon.

.

.

.

The basement is actually really pleasant.

Not that Agatha thought Guinevere had been lying or anything.

She can finally hear her own thoughts again, now that the music has been limited to the background. There were, at best, 30-something people down here and none of them seemed particularly interested in her, thankfully. She even gets some of the leftover sandwiches on the food table, which were very good, although cold. Agatha finds herself a seat in a comfy armchair near the wall, watching the games and conversations unfolding around her.

A few college-aged boys were having a pool tournament (somehow, they all seemed to be losing), some girls sat on a circle on the floor playing what Agatha presumed was _‘never have I ever’_ , a few younger kids were hanging by the nearly empty food table and couple was talking quietly in the corner. But the main event of the lounge was a Just Dance competition, being hosted by some high schoolers (seniors if Agatha had to guess), which has been in its quarter-finals stage when she arrived at the basement.

So far, Sophie hadn’t contacted her (Agatha was unsurprised, but disappointed, as usual), whether because Guinevere hadn’t found her or because she was busy chasing Tedros Pendragon around the house, Agatha did not know. But she did feel a lot better knowing that at least Guinevere and Lancelot were supervising the whole thing and that Guinevere knew where to find her if something did happen.

After the final of the Just Dance competition (won by a pretty red-headed girl named Yara), one of the guys took the microphone, announcing a karaoke competition. They would randomly choose someone at the basement to come to the fluffy rug in front of the huge Led TV, allowing them to choose their partner. The pair would then be entitled to choosing a musical genre and a random well-known song from said genre would be selected.

At first, Agatha doesn’t really pay much attention to it, too entertained by overhearing the absurd declarations being made in the _‘never have I ever’_ game (‘never have I ever worn the same shirt twice in a week’ _piss off, liar_ ). It only caught her interest when one of the girls playing the game got selected, pulling one of her friends to go sing with her. It had been the most off-key version of Britney Spears’ 'Toxic' that Agatha had ever witnessed, with very weird choreography choices, but she found herself mouthing along nonetheless. She wasn’t the only one. Soon, the entire basement was hooked on the karaoke competition.

Some of the pool boys got roped into singing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’, which they actually nailed, and at the end of their turn, the pair bowed and blew kisses at the small crowd. At every new contestant Agatha found herself cheering and laughing more freely, perhaps because everyone felt a bit awkward singing karaoke and therefore, no one was really expecting anything from anyone. If you couldn’t sing it was entertaining, if you could it was impressive.

In fact, Agatha is so distracted by the charming performance of ‘You’re The One That I Want’ by the corner-couple, that the arrival of at least 40 more people at the basement, all very excited to sing, doesn’t faze her at all.

For the first time tonight, Agatha is actually glad that Sophie convinced her to come. This might be the most fun she’s had all summer.

A boy and a girl sing a uniquely high-pitched rendition of Hamilton’s 'Wait For It', followed by two younger kids somewhat botching ‘I Write Sins Not Tragedies’ while jumping along to the melody. Two blonde girls are finishing up their version of ‘Hot Line Bling’ (which Agatha thinks might be actually better than the original), when microphone-boy makes the fatal mistake of choosing Agatha to go up next.

Her smile fades and she grips the arm rests of her chair, feeling like a deer caught on the headlights.

It’s not that Agatha cannot sing. She can. And, contrary to what Sophie might say, it’s not that Agatha hates singing either. What she didn’t like was performing in public. Having all those eyes on her, scrutinizing, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Singing and dancing wasn’t really like playing volleyball. Volleyball was a team sport: if you made a mistake, your teammates had your back. You could lose a few points and still win the game. No one expects you to win a game 25x0. As for performing… _When performing, one should always strive for perfection_ , her mother used to say. Your fellow dancers are not there to cover for you, they’re part of the bigger picture. A mistake may not cost you the competition (even if it usually did), but it will cost you _everything else_.

Honestly, dealing with _that_ just looked like a lot more childhood trauma then she was willing to acknowledge having, so Agatha just stayed clear of the spotlight whenever she could, even if maybe she did miss singing a bit.

But… Agatha also doesn’t wanna be the weird girl who refuses to sing after everyone sang, no matter how embarrassing the song was. Callis, Stefan and Honora raised no coward. Maybe she could just bring some of her competitive self to play…?

_A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do._

Agatha accepts the microphone hesitantly, blushing when microphone-boy makes a joke about their next contestant being a bit shy. The sheer peer pressure is what allows people around her to pull her from her seat and semi-drag her across the room, towards the fluffy rug. The crowd cheers. She doesn’t feel the nausea or the breathlessness she had earlier in the lavatory, just nerves really. But just as she starts to relax, it occurs to her that she doesn’t know anyone to partner up with.

As she is about to tell microphone-boy that, a clear voice surges from seemingly nowhere, right behind her.

“Can I sing with her?”

_Unbelievable._

“Well, I can’t refuse a request from _the host_ himself, can I?” the older boy smirks, before addressing Agatha, “you mind?”

_Yes, Agatha minded very much._

She shook her head, indicating a ‘no’.

Then, Agatha turned around, to take a look at her karaoke partner, Tedros Pendragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *During the third part of this chapter, Agatha gets overwhelmed and has a minor anxiety attack. Guinevere notices her distress and comes to talk to her, helping her regain her footing. She informs Agatha that she always supervises the parties her son throws at their house and offers to drive both Agatha and Sophie home. It’s confirmed that Guinevere is indeed Tedros’ mother. Agatha feels indebted to her, even if she does not like Tedros, mostly because she believes he is purposefully using his father’s money and influence to get advantages for the basketball team.
> 
> *gasp* What, I have arrived at the first iconic scene of the first movie after only 10k? Unbelievable, here I was thinking it’d take 20. Thank god we aren’t following the original script, or this would take forever to write. We’ll have some familiar scenes and plot lines for those of you who saw the movies, but we’re mostly mixing it up and doing our own thing.
> 
> Honestly, I’m surprised so many of you haven’t experienced the sheer phenomenon that theses movies were back in the day. Here, when I was growing up they were completely _inescapable_.  
> Anyone who was anyone at recess had to know how to sing these songs (I’m using singing very liberally here, because we were all, like, 7/8 years old and no one knew a word of english). In fact, they were the reason why I wanted to go to english class when I was younger. Hsm3 was the first movie I ever saw on a movie theater, the weird portuguese parodies were the first videos I watched on youtube, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a Zac Effron poster inside my wardrobe back at my childhood bedroom. I’m that emotionally attached to these things.


	3. this could be the start of something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time in WSF:  
> Sophie (predictably, but still disappointingly) ditches her anxious sister at a crowded house party to try and find her prince charming. Agatha gets some advice from tired party-supervisor!Guinevere and ends up with her son as a karaoke partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> So, this chapter took me forever and honestly, I’m still not happy with it. Usually writing Tedros’ voice comes to me quite easily, but that’s because I’m very familiar with my post-TLEA!Tedros from my other works, or even older!Tedros from IYNTB, AKA post-development!Tedros. This book1-ish Tedros just did not want to speak at all, and it shows. At first I made him too self-aware, then too dumb, and… Originally, I was going to make him a bigger jerk, but this man is a nightmare to try and keep in character already, and I realized I would actually need to redeem him, without, you know, dragging him to filth, so this is what you get instead.  
> On a positive note, thank you to everyone who commented (you guys make my day), left kudos, bookmarked and/or subscribed! Thank you for all your support!

_(July 17th, 2020)_

When friday finally arrives, Tedros feels his spirits lift up for the first time in _weeks_.

 _And it shows,_ as when his phone rings, announcing an incoming video call from both Chaddick and Beatrix, Tedros greets them with a face-full of umbrian clay, wet hair and a huge smile.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a new look after all,” Beatrix announces with a smile of her own once the call connects, crossing her arms, laying back on her chair, her phone propped up somewhere in what Tedros assumes must be her hotel room in Maidenvale.

“Haha,” Tedros ironizes, slightly squinting to get a better look at her, “feeling edgy, aren’t you?”

“Well, I, for one, think you look great, Bea,” Chaddick comments. His phone appears to be on the floor and Chaddick himself is sitting on a bench, a few feet away, lifting weights at his home’s gym.

“See? Chaddick appreciates me.”

“Chaddick’s not even looking at the screen,” Tedros chuckles, smirking teasingly. “But truly, I suppose if anyone can pull off the early 2010’s look, it’d be you.”

And it was true.

Beatrix was easily one of the prettiest girls Tedros has ever met, if not _the prettiest_. It didn’t matter if her hair was in her signature childhood braided style, in her middle school ponytail with bangs or in its high school long waves. The left side-shave style she apparently chose to do during the summer wouldn’t be any different, and Tedros thinks it actually suited Beatrix better than any of her previous styles.

“You guys are the worst,” she rolled her eyes, “this is why I’m a lesbian.”

“Speaking of lesbians, what did Reena say?” Chaddick asks, setting the weights aside and picking up the phone.

“She helped me do it,” Bea gets closer to the camera to give them a better view. “Thank the Lord she did, I was starting to get a bit carried away. Might have shaved my entire head off if she hadn’t intervened. My mom is freaking out enough as it is.”

“ _I_ _t’s not just a phase mom!_ ”" Chaddick snorted. “Wait, you shaved your hair by yourself?!”

“Probably at 3am, with, like, paper scissors and her father’s shaver, if I had to guess.”

“Guilty as charged,” she smirked, “oh Teddy, you know me so well.”

“I do,” he admits, “which is why I think Reena must have some brain damage to be dating you.”

“I don’t think you get to do that joke, mister. _You_ dated me, remember?” she lifts a brow.

“And you point is…?” Chaddick intervenes.

“Fair,” Bea concedes.

“Hey!”

“Anyway, let me fill you in. Yesterday, we went to this weird coffee shop…”

She then proceeds to inform them of her most recent adventures in Maidenvale with her family and Reena. Tedros had been a bit worried when she had told them she decided to invite Reena along to her annual family vacation, given how… _traditionally inclined_ (to not use other words) Beatrix’s parents could be, but according to Beatrix herself, things had been running smoothly so far.

Tedros tried not to be jealous of that.

“…Anyway, Chaddick, you’ve been awfully quiet. How is our one remaining straight member doing? Has Gisele been driving you up the wall again?"

“She was, which is why I’m giving the whole ‘dating’ thing a break,” Chaddick snorts. “After having Gisele screeching on my ear about how _I didn’t give her enough attention_ for three weeks, I think I’ll keep to myself for a while, ya know?”

“Oh no, Chaddick, you promised you’d double date with us at least once before you dumped her!” Beatrix whined, “you were my last hope!”

“Sorry, Bea,” Chaddick clicks his tongue, “maybe next time.”

“What, do I, like, not count or something?”

“Teddy, I love you, but we all know you’re not seeing anyone.”

“What? I totally could be!” Tedros complains, furrowing his brows. “You haven’t seen me all summer! For all you know, I could’ve made out with 30 people!”

“I mean, yeah, man,” Chaddick replies. “One-night stuff sure, but you like… don’t do _dating_.”

“I dated Beatrix!”

“Yeah, because I thought I was in love with you and you felt bad for me,” Beatrix grumbled.

“No, I didn’t!”

“Ya kinda did,” Chaddick exposed.

“Chaddick!”

“Tedros, it’s been more than a year, it’s fine,” she reassures. “Besides, it took me what, two months to realize that you were a bi _disaster_ and I was a lesbian _legend_ in denial? It was for the best, really.”

“God, freshmen year was such a weird year, wasn’t it?”

“I know, right? You had that hipster fringe,” Bea points out, hiding a smile behind her palm. Chaddick rolls his eyes, amused. “Honestly, Chad, that crew cut did wonders for you. Can’t wait to see the freshmen girls losing their minds over you this year.”

“Let’s hope junior year won’t be anything like this summer…” Tedros whispers tiredly, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Both Chaddick and Beatrix stop smiling and look at him, concerned.

“Teddy, I know you told us you were _fine_ … But you know you can talk to us right?”

“Yeah, man, you can count on us.”

For a second, Tedros actually considers.

He has known Beatrix and Chaddick since kindergarten. They’ve gone through everything together; Tedros’ car accident, Chaddick’s mother’s death, Beatrix coming out to her _very christian_ parents and many other, _not as traumatic,_ experiences, such as Tedros coming out to them, Chaddick’s innumerous break-ups and Beatrix’s goth phase.

They were his best friends in the entire world.

“I know,” Tedros gives them a sheepish smile, “I’m just _bored_ here. I miss you guys.”

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to tell them, really.

But Chaddick’s mother was _dead_ and Beatrix’s parents were _questionably_ very happily married. Tedros is not sure if they’d understand. Especially because it’s already been _so long_ already.

“Jesus, that was corny,” Bea rolls her eyes, biting back a moved smile, “I miss you two idiots too.”

Silence.

“…What?” Chaddick smirked. “Fine, I suppose Camelot’s been quiet without ya.”

Tedros’ timer goes off, indicating it was time to wash off the clay.

“Well, that’s my cue,” he mutters, smiling, doing a salute gesture, “adios, losers.”

“Have a great party, bitch,” Beatrix laughs.

Chaddick salutes him back.

Tedros disconnects from the call, his smile wavering.

Technically he didn’t _lie_. So far, summer had been going… Well, as _fine_ as it could, given the circumstances. And it had been kinda _boring_.

Mostly, it had been depressing and frustrating.

Tedros always spends his summers at Avalon with his family, from beginning of june all the way up to his birthday, mid-august, when they returned home to Camelot. It used to be his favorite time of the year, even better than christmas or halloween. But the last few summers had been… 

At least, this summer wasn’t as _bad_ as the last one. Not that it still wasn’t awfully hard, of course. But at least the sight of Lancelot sitting at the dining table, on the seat that used to be his father’s, was no longer _as_ _unbearable_ as it had once been and no longer _made Tedros wanna set himself on fire_. And that had to count as progress, right?

It had to, because it was the first summer he spent here with the divorce finalized. After nearly four years of courtroom battles and death stares over fancy dinner, it was all finally over.

 _Officially_ , that was. As usual, life tended to be a bit more… complicated.

So far, the majority of Tedros’ time had been dedicated to spending as much time as he could away from the lake house, as not only was the house always noisy (his mother was doing a renovation project of some sort on the second floor) but Guinevere and Lancelot were always _there_. Yeah, he played basketball with Lancelot a few times and talked a bit with his mother, but honestly, this whole _holding hands and singing kumbaya_ thing was exhausting, so he made sure to find some distraction for himself. Surprisingly, Guinevere didn’t lecture Tedros on his _very frequent_ absences, which was… suspicious, to say the least, as she had been so adamant about Tedros spending the summer with her in Avalon during the trial. Maybe it was because Tedros was nearly 17, but really, he’s pretty sure it's because she’s hiding something.

Tedros would know. Classical _‘I don’t know how to handle this teenager_ ’ behavior, right out of his father’s books. Some grade A parenting right there. Brave of her to pull this on him after she and Lancelot _ruined Tedros’ life_ and turned his father into… whatever he is now. Was she going to give him a limitless credit card too? Maybe a car? 

Sometimes, Tedros wonders if the only reason why Guinevere and Arthur were so invested fighting over who got his guard had been to spite each other, because it sure as hell wasn’t for him.

So, Tedros decides that he shall do as he always does when he gets overwhelmed by his own angst: _he’s throwing a party_.

Truly, party-planning was an _art form of its own_ and one of Tedros’ most underrated talents. Over the years, he had gained himself quite the reputation as a legendary host, a _party king_ , in Camelot. Back home, Tedros mostly had the place to himself, so it was all too easy to throw parties whenever. Here, under his mother’s surveillance, usually, he'd have to be way more careful and plan in advance.

But if Guinevere was going to let Tedros run around doing whatever… well, he wasn’t going to complain. After all, his reputation, when added to his very high credit card limit (courtesy of absent, but rich, parent, Arthur Pendragon), made for a huge list of people willing to help set up a party in exchange for an invite, be it by bringing food, drinks and props or by staying after to clean up.

Perfect recipe for instant-party.

.

.

.

As someone who loves attention and being in the spotlight, Tedros, _the party king_ , is a fantastic host.

Tedros goes from room to room, making sure everybody is having fun, introducing people and starting conversations. He knows who will get along with whom (as he knew pretty much everyone), what room would be more suited for you (he always makes sure to have different options) and what food or drink you should try next (there was a reason why he made sure to be friends with all the restaurant-owners kids).

It all comes very naturally to him, almost as if Tedros had been turned onto autopilot mode. He talks, flirts and dances without thinking too much (or at all). He doesn’t really have to, he is just effortless charming like that. From the top of his throne, as the crowd parts for him, Tedros feels free and limitless. The underlying notion that he’s in control of everything around him, that everyone came here _for him_ gets his blood _pumping_ and strokes his _ego._

 _My God, does it feel good to be_ _king_.

However, around 8pm, Tedros needs to grab a coat to go outside. Being king came with some downsides. Including ‘supervisor duty’. In the backyard, he finds himself having to restrain a minor brawl, call security to deal with a passed-out kid and kick out a couple who was getting a bit… too _risqué_ on the garden.

(Really, he doesn’t think the lake house rules are _that restricting_ , people just like to be assholes: you can’t fight, you can’t get blackout drunk, you can’t bring drugs other than alcohol, you can’t break stuff and you can’t have sex, or, if you do any of the above, _you can’t get caught_. Was he asking for too much?)

By the time Tedros walks back inside, there’s a small commotion around the entrance hall. Which is weird because the only things there are the coat closet… the winter gear deposit and the garage entrance, both locked… and a lounge room they usually put up for game-lovers.

_What in the world…?_

Tedros dumps his jacket onto the closet before getting closer to access the situation. He swears that _if someone managed to break the pool table again he will have a_ −

It’s… karaoke?

Tedros doesn’t know the rock-ish song that Yara’s younger siblings are screaming onto the microphone as they jump around the rug, but it sounds oddly familiar and brings back war-flashbacks from Beatrix’s goth phase. The number of people going downstairs to the basement keeps on growing.

_…A king’s duty never ends._

Tedros descends the stairs, slowly making his way to Christopher and the other Avalon High seniors, whom apparently are hosting a karaoke competition in his basement. He chats up with Serena, Christopher’s girlfriend, who fills him in on the rules as a new pair (he recognizes them as a couple of sophomores from Avalon Public High School) goes to perform a Drake song.

People look like they’re having fun, which is great. The food table is almost empty, he should probably take care of that soon… Tedros is swaying along to the song, making small talk with a few college freshmen when he sees her.

The next contestant is a girl whom Tedros can’t immediately recognize, which is weird. She is about his age, with curled short black hair and pale skin, wearing a blue sweater and a black miniskirt. She looks awfully uncomfortable, all curled up onto herself, gripping the armrest like a lifeline and Tedros honestly feels kinda bad for her. _Maybe she’s not a good singer_.

“Seems like we’ve got a shy lady up next!” Christopher jokes, offering her the microphone. “C’mon, everyone, let’s make her feel welcome!”

People wolf-whistle and cheer as the girl goes to the rug and that’s when Tedros notices that, unlike any other contest, blue-sweater-girl doesn’t bring a partner.

Well, he is more than happy to play her knight in white T-shirt and jeans.

“Can I sing with her?” he asks Christopher, even though he already knows the answer.

“Well, I can’t refuse a request from _the_ _host_ himself, can I?” the senior shrugs, “you mind?”

She shakes her head nervously. Tedros makes sure to put on his most disarming smile.

The girl turns to face him and Tedros’ smile flickers a bit. She doesn’t smile back.

_…Who are you?_

Don’t get him wrong, Tedros’ memory is usually far from perfect and he’ll be the first to admit it. But when it comes to his parties, he tends to be _v_ ery meticulous; he knows _everyone_ , even if only from a distance. This girl looks familiar enough that Tedros is sure he has seen her _somewhere_ before, but _where_?

Now that she is directly in front of him, he can see just how tall she is, even if he still had an inch or two on her. Her face is angular, with a very strong jawline, a straight nose, and big, expressive, round brown eyes, glaring up at him like Tedros had just tried to drown her cat on the toilet or something.

She offers him her mic, as Christopher hands her a second one. Tedros accepts it, taking note of her very toned forearms and firm grip.

“Pick your poison, which genre do you guys want?”

The girl looks Tedros up and down, frowning. He’s not sure, but he feels like he should be offended.

“You know some old-ish karaoke classics, right?”

“Depends,” Tedros lifts a brow, “how old are we talking?”

“What, you don’t know anything not released in the 2010’s?” she scoffs.

“ _Late 80’s hits_ it is then,” Tedros snaps.

Christopher nods, selecting a random song and Tedros prays to the heavens above that they don’t call his bluff and expose his _very basic_ indie-gen-z-white-boy taste, if only to not give this girl the satisfaction.

Thankfully, the universe is on his side and Tedros is familiar with the melody that echoes through the lounge room. It’s a song from the last one of those movies about the two girls in the fairytale school or something. Was it that old? Tedros is pretty sure the third one came out only a few years ago. Maybe it had been a re-make?

In any case, Tedros’ got this. It’s ‘Only You’ from that movie, and fortunately he knows most of the lyrics by heart, because that song played non-stop on the radio of Beatrix’s car, which he rode in for months before getting his license.

He turns to give the girl a smug smile, only to notice, yet again, just how uncomfortable she looked. With her eyes darting around the crowd and slightly shaky hands, she somehow managed to look very small, even while standing nearly as tall as Tedros.

Their eyes meet and she averts her gaze to the rug.

Tedros sighs, tentatively starting his part of the song, following the blue color-coded words as they lit up on the screen. He steals a few glances at her, noticing her cross her arms around herself protectively.

When the screen text turns pink, for a second, Tedros thinks she’s not gonna sing at all. But then, although slightly belated and low-toned, _she does_ , and Tedros struggles to pay attention to the screen, directing his gaze at her again, bewildered. She sounds… very, very good.

 _Too good actually_.

The slight smirk she’s biting back under her nervous demeanor tells Tedros she _knows_. Her voice rises as she gains a bit of confidence, lifting her eyes from the ground.

Brown finds blue.

The text color changes to purple, signaling the chorus, and they both accept the unspoken challenge.

Tedros puts every single drop of charisma he has onto his performance, channeling his most princely voice, moving smoothly around her, stepping onto her personal space. She lifts a brow, almost amused (which wasn’t the reaction he was going for, but he’ll take it over her glare), uncrossing her arms.

The girl no longer looks at the screen, looking Tedros straight in the eyes as she sang her next lines. He’s not sure he has ever seen someone go from ‘ _small and nervous_ ’ to ‘ _I could kick your ass and make you thank me for it_ ’ this fast, but it’s a good look for her.

Tedros’ next verses flow through his lips automatically, joining her in the chorus again, partly aware of the crowd cheering and clapping along in the background, but all those other people sound distant, like they are underwater. The way she sways to the beat freely is a captivating, almost flirty, response to Tedros’ more expansive moves, the two of them in perfect sync, and suddenly he is very aware of just how close they are. Under the basement’s lowlights, brown eyes shine his way with joy and Tedros finds himself bewitched (and slightly off-key on the bridge) by just how absolutely confident she looks, how magnetic she _is_.

The last chorus is over all too soon, with Tedros whispering the last verse in dazed trance:

“ _You are my queen,_

 _No one but you~_ ”

She gives him one last small smile, and in the everlasting second it takes for the melody to end, Tedros thinks his soul might have left his body. 

He is, however, rudely yanked back to reality when her smile fades away in a flash, almost as if it had never existed in the first place. The alluring girl he had just been singing with disappears, shoving the microphone at him and turning on her heels.

_Just who is this girl?_

.

.

.

It could have gone better, Tedros won’t lie.

Handing over the microphones to Christopher, he tries to run up the stairs, feeling people’s eyes on him as he tries to chase her through the crowd. _This is not a position Tedros finds himself in very often_. Normally, people tend to gravitate towards him, be it for his looks or his money. He’s used to being spotted easily, attracting admiration, jealousy and longing both unconsciously and on purpose, but this time his charm works against him, as it makes it impossible for him to see his mystery girl between the dozens of people vying for his attention.

Tedros accepts a beer and is congratulated by three Avalon seniors before he finally manages to get through the commotion to the entrance hall, a pang of disappointment hitting him square on the chest.

_She was already gone._

He pauses, taking a single sip of his beer, turning to return to the basement (maybe Christopher or someone there knew her), when Tedros collided with _something_ , accidentally spilling at least half the bottle onto it.

“You should watch where you’re−” mystery girl mutters to him before freezing. She looks up at him with wide eyes and swirls back, bolting away.

“Wait−” Tedros whisper-shouts as he catches up to her, managing to grasp her wrist, which in retrospect wasn’t the best approach, especially since he already spilled beer all over her skirt.

“Let go!” she whisper-shouts back, yanking her arm out of his grasp, surprising Tedros with the amount of force she put into the gesture. “What do you want?”

She adjusts her bag strap on her shoulder, frowning at him with such distrust as she steps back, you’d think _Tedros_ is the one crashing _her_ party uninvited. For once, Tedros is not sure what he’s supposed to say here, like he had been suddenly uprooted from automatic and thrown into chaotic manual mode.

What _did_ he want, chasing after her?

“You, hm, sing very well,” he compliments, feeling his palms sweating, tempted to take another sip of beer. “I’m Tedros.”

“I know,” her frown deepens in confusion, as she shifts her weight between her legs, “…I mean, hm, I know who you are. Not the singing part… I, hm thanks, I guess.”

“…Do I know you? Or are you, like, a secret admirer or something?” Tedros asks directly, which also wasn’t a good move, because the question seems to irritate her.

“No, and _no,_ ” she answers but Tedros is pretty sure that it’s not correct. He has seen her before. _Where?_

“… But you’re at _my_ party.”

“Obviously, yes.”

“… And I don’t know you?”

She crosses her arms, raising her chin in a silent challenge. Very brave for someone drenched in _beer_.

“…I can leave, if you want me to.”

Tedros is stuck in perplexity. Mystery girl seems to take his speechless-ness as a 'yes', because she shoves past him reaching for the door, probably to grab her coat and leave.

Only to find it locked.

“The coat closet is that way,” Tedros points to the blue door right next to the main doorway, holding back an amused smirk.

She huffs past him again, infuriated.

“Wait. Don’t,” he calls. “It’s suede.”

“What?” mystery girl turns on her heels, scowling.

Judging by the fury in her eyes and her upper body strength alone, Tedros can tell this girl could probably beat him up. Tedros could be convinced into letting her.

“You skirt,” he elaborates, “it’s black suede, isn’t it?”

She palms her wet skirt.

“I guess.”

“Then you should probably go to the bathroom, unless you want it to stain beyond repair.”

The girl cringes, as if suddenly remembering something horrid.

“So, I, what? Blow dry it or something?”

“What? No!” Tedros is scandalized. “C’mon, I’ll help.”

Maybe it’s the horror or the shock, but this time, when Tedros reaches for her wrist, she allows him to drag her upstairs from the entrance hall into the lavatory. A few boys give Tedros a thumbs-up and wolf-whistle, which Tedros ignores, when he closes the door behind them.

She frowns again, crossing arms in front of her chest, a slight flush to her cheeks.

Tedros sighs, setting the half-empty bottle of beer by the sink and reaching to grab a face towel.

He kneels down−

“What are you doing?!”

Tedros gives her an unimpressed look.

“You need to blot away the moisture so the stain can air dry.”

The girl’s blush intensifies and she snatches the towel from Tedros, stepping away.

She starts rubbing the towel on her skirt roughly, and Tedros wonders if it’d be mean of him to just let her ruin the item for being so rude. But as he had been the one to spill the beer on her in the first place, Tedros supposes fixing it it’s least he can do

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Maybe he’s getting a bit used to her glare, but as she had yet to beat him up, he felt brave enough to continue, glaring back.

“You’re putting too much pressure. It’s going to damage it,” Tedros extends his hand, kneeling down in the marble floor again, “c’mon.”

Mystery girl hesitates, probably contemplating how many of his teeth she could break if she kicked him in the face (a lot of them, as she was wearing the _meanest_ -looking shoes Tedros had ever seen), before stepping closer, directly in front of him. Also not a position Tedros finds himself in often, but not one he minded too much, to be honest. She had some _very long, very pretty legs._ Almost as if reading his mind, she shoves the towel onto his extended hand:

“No funny business,” the girl adverts her gaze, looking anywhere but at him.

Tedros suppresses a chuckle.

“As you wish, _princess_.”

“I’m not a princess,” she gave him a death stare, which he responded with an indolent smirk.

“If you’ve never washed your own clothes before, I can only presume you are a princess,” Tedros mocks. “Even I had to do some damage control before calling laundry service.”

“Unlike you, I always do my own laundry, you snob.”

“Do you?” Tedros lifts a brow, glaring back at her again. “Because _‘not using heat on suede’_ is pretty much basic laundry knowledge!”

“I don’t own any suede! I wouldn’t kno... oh,” how very unfortunate that she looked cute when blushing. It makes Tedros want to embarrass her again. “I− This skirt isn't mine. It’s my sister’s.”

He keeps on gently patting the fabric with the towel, basking on his previous victory, just in case she actually kicks him in the face.

“Why is it looking so dark?”

“Because it’s _black_?”

A glower.

“…Oh, the stain,” Tedros realizes. “It will look like that ‘til it air dries. If it’s still stained after that, either you _gently_ ,” he gives her a pointed look, “scrub the fabric with a suede eraser, which I don’t think you’d own, _princess,_ ” glower intensifies, “or you can just send it to the dry cleaning place uptown and send the bill to me. They know me there, tell them to put it under the Pendragon tab.”

“Do you ever _not_ sound pretentious?” she mutters, stepping away from him again.

“You’re welcome!” Tedros snaps at her, getting back to his feet. “You know, for a secret admirer, you’re very ungrateful, the least you could do is say thank you!”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Princess snaps back, “I don’t even like you!”

“Then why did you sneak into my party?”

“And I didn’t sneak in! I−”

Tedros slips a hand over her mouth.

She scowls again, probably about to bite his fingers off, when he makes a _‘shhh’_ sign, leaning his ear against the door. He slips off his hand, and her silence, either motivated by his request or by shock, is appreciated. She too leans her ear against the lavatory door.

“…Should just tell him, Gwen,” the voice was slightly distorted and distant, but it was most definitely Lancelot’s, “if we wait until… A scene…His birthday...”

“…Know… Big deal… I don’t want to lose him... Other people… Big house... Too many ghosts… Potential visitors...” his mother answers him.

“…Be a big deal.... The house… Money...”

The party music outside makes it hard to distinguish much of the conversation, but Tedros doesn’t need to hear anymore of it to know what they’re talking about.

Princess leans away from the door.

“…I don't think I should be here right now,” she whispers.

Tedros ignores her.

The weird renovation project his mother was doing on the second floor, not really minding Tedros being out of the house, all the extra employees… He had thought his mother had been trying to groom the lake house for him or something... 

Guinevere was going to _sell_ their Avalon lake house! And apparently wasn’t going to mention it until his birthday. You know, the day he was _leaving_ Avalon.

_Absolutely not. He would not let her._

Tedros slams the door open, attracting the attention of both Guinevere and Lancelot.

“So, you were going to sell our house, our _memories away_ , and didn’t even think of mentioning it once this entire time?” he fumes. “Happy birthday to me, hm?!”

“Tedros, we−” his mother tries to reach for him, but he pushes her hand away.

“Needed more money than you already took from my dad, right?! To what, buy a brand new house?!” Tedros lashes out, “What’s next, you’re gonna send me away? Have a new son? That way you can replace ALL OF US!”

Tedros is vaguely aware of Lancelot shouting at his back, but he stomps down the stairs and into the gardens without once looking back.

.

.

.

Sometimes, Tedros forgets just how cold Avalon can get.

As he curls up in a bench, hidden from view by the big wall-shaped bushes, Tedros feels his fingers tingle, his exposed arms betraying his shivering. Now that had some time to cool off, he can see that maybe his reaction was… _poor_. Part of him wants to go back inside and apologize for screaming at his mother. And not only because he’s freezing, which, believe him, _he is_.

But he doesn’t, because part of him isn’t sorry at all.

The Avalon lake house was where their family had been together at its happiest. This is where his father and Lancelot relieved their old school days by teaching Tedros how to play basketball on the outdoor court; where his father took Tedros ice skating while his mother watched and took pictures; where great-uncle Merlin had showed him the constellations, telling Tedros their names and stories; where his mother made him his favorite hot chocolate and ran her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep on her lap by the fireplace after an entire day of adventures.

Tedros knows every nook and crevice of this lake house, perhaps even better than he knows the ones of their main house back in Camelot. He knows which paintings are there to cover his old ‘artwork’ on the white walls, which doorways have markings of his growing height, which statue is missing a finger, which curtain hides a secret vault, which bush had been planted over the time capsule he and a few of the other kids buried.

Just the idea of a bunch of a strangers moving in made his skin _crawl_.

During their extremely-messy-high-conflict divorce, Arthur had been forced to hand over the Avalon house to Guinevere. His mother was free to do with it as she wished, even if that meant selling it. The lake house was too big and too expensive for her and Lancelot alone, but Tedros knows that’s not the reason why she’d do that. She and Arthur had built a corporate empire and after selling her stock share to his father (as part of their settlement agreement), even if she never worked a day ever again, Guinevere would still have enough money to sustain the house for at least 150 more years _on her own_ and still buy a private jet.

No, she was doing it because she knew what this lake house _represented_. What it _was_ not only to Tedros or to Arthur, but to herself. This house was the Pendragon family’s sanctuary, a house of memories. Memories that she didn’t want anything to do with anymore.

Why was this happening to him? To his family? Why couldn’t Guinevere just love his father? And even if she couldn’t, why would she go ahead, marry him, have a kid, only to abandon both of them for ‘ _uncle_ ’ Lancelot!? Did his mother think she could just yank them around, turn his life upside down and Tedros would just sit calmly and watch?

_How could she be so selfish?_

Lost in his own thoughts, with his eyes closed and his head between his knees, Tedros is startled when he feels a weight on his shoulders and suddenly the cold air no longer bites at his exposed skin.

“Your mother told me I might find you here.”

“Go away, Princess, I’m not in the mood,” he spits, “I don’t need any secret admirers now; Trust me, I’ve already got plenty of those.”

Princess snorts.

“How about a friend?” she snaps, and Tedros can imagine her crossing her arms, her brow furrowed in annoyance as she frowns at him. “You don’t look like you’ve got many of those.”

“I’ve got friends too.”

“Maybe, but you’re still sitting out here. Alone.”

He hears the rustling of the flawlessly green grass as she goes around the bench.

“Look, divorce is different for everyone,” she starts, “but it’s never _easy._ ”

“Understatement,” Tedros chuckles bitterly. “Why are you here? I thought I was a _pretentious snob_ and you _didn’t like me_?”

“You are. And I don’t,” Princess admits. She adjusts the coat on his shoulders, pulling the ends to cover his feet. Princess smells nice, like one of those scented candles, maybe an incense of some sort. “Consider this as me doing something nice for you,” she says softly, before tapping his shoulder. “Move over.”

Tedros lifts his head to face her as he moves aside, allowing her to sit beside him. She’s wearing a thick black parka over her previous outfit. A princess wearing clumps, a black coat, and smelling like herbs. Perhaps he had been a bit too hasty on his nicknaming of her. 

Princess doesn’t look at him, staring up at the night sky, but the way she shifts indicates she definitely felt his stare.

“I don’t know anything about you or your family, and I’m not gonna pretend like I do. But I know what it is like to feel powerless as your family falls apart, seeing things change, losing everything you used to know. It sucks and I don’t wish it on anyone.”

“Your parents got divorced too?” Tedros questions.

“Yeah. It happened when my sister and I were very young,” she tells him, glaring at an unseen object. “It was the divorce of the century.”

“I think you’re wrong. You haven’t heard my case.”

“You haven’t heard mine either.”

Tedros hugs his knees one more time before letting go, looping his arms through the sleeves of his coat, and closing the front buttons.

“You think you can beat my mother having an affair with Lancelot, my father’s high school best friend, and abandoning us to be with him, after having been with my dad for nearly 20 years? My mother leaving _my dad_ , co-founder and current chairman of Camelot International, ex-international-basketball-star, billionaire, for the guy who used to carry me on his shoulders when I was a kid?”

“I _know_ I can,” she says as her eyes find his, “but I shall spare you the angst, as this is not about _me,_ ” Princess sighs heavily. “After my parents divorced, my sister and I went to live with my dad. It was confusing and weird, but slowly… _For me_ , life went on. I missed the way things were, but it allowed me, and not only me, but my father too, to find something better,”

“Look, I’m glad for you, but−”

“Shut it, I’m not finished,” she glared, but eventually directed her gaze to her feet. “Anyway, I had a rough time, but eventually, I was fine. But divorce is different for everyone. My sister was… Well, _is_ , very much not fine. When my dad got remarried, she was furious. But what she really was... was _hurt._ I think part of her thought that if she held onto the hope that one day things would go back to the way they used to be, it just might happen. But they aren’t going to. When she saw the ring, the new baby… It just got a bit too real for her.” 

Princess reached inside her bag and fishing out a package.

“And her feelings are valid, but honestly, I think she’d be a lot happier if she’d let go of that and moved on. Allowed herself to _heal_. And so would you,” she pushed the paper bag onto his hands. Tedros opens the package carefully.

“I don’t do drugs.”

“Good. I don’t either,” Princess glowers at him. “They’re _normal cookies_. I mean, they’re vegan, and, like, sugar-free, but still.”

“…And you’ll just give them to me?”

“They were for your party anyway,” she admits, “I was going to put them on the food table… But I think you need them more. Sweets always make _me_ feel better.”

Tedros puts one into his mouth tentatively. They’re actually good. Maybe Princess was, indeed, a witch. They sit in silence for three more cookies before Tedros decides to speak again.

“Still… How can you just… let it go? It doesn’t sound fair,” he argues, cookie crumbles all over his lap and mouth.

Her frown deepens, like Tedros had said the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

“Most things aren’t... Peace over victory, you know?”

“No, not really,” Tedros disagrees, nipping on another cookie. “So we just let people walk all over us and then _let it go_ , forgive them, just because they didn’t do it on purpose? People need to be held accountable. I can’t just act like I don’t care that my mother abandoned our family and now wants to do away with the crime evidence.”

“You’re right to be angry. But if you keep on being angry at your mother, at Lancelot, at your father or _at God_ for doing this to you, what does it actually get you? You can go ahead and martyrize yourself and throw a hundred pity parties. There, you won. What would _victory_ realistically look like?” 

Princess doesn’t wait for Tedros to answer her. She stands up, adjusting her now semi-dry skirt that had ridden up and pulling her bag strap across her shoulder.

“The point is: peace isn’t easy, but it’s usually worth it.”

“I’m not… very good at _peace,_ ” Tedros mumbles, finding her eyes again.

“Then practice,” Princess advises, nudging her head in the direction of the house with her arms crossed.

“Are you going back inside?”

“I am. I need to hunt my sister down and go home. And _you_ need to talk to your mother,” she glares. 

“...Can I least finish the cookies first?”

Princess huffs, walking past him.

This time, Tedros doesn’t chase after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Me referencing the original meet-hate from book 1? More likely than you’d think.  
> Hopefully the next chapter won't take me as long, but... Let's just say your next POV character hasn't been very cooperative either.  
> Tell me your thoughts, see you all soon, stay safe!


	4. show some muscle, do the hustle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time in WSF:  
> Party-King Teddy throws a midsummer party to distract himself from his several family issues. It does not go as planned, especially when he crosses paths with a mysterious girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> As usual thank you all for your support! I’m sorry it took me that long to respond to your comments, but I promise to do so more often from now on.  
> This chapter stressed me a lot, not only because it made me realize I needed to reread QFG (I did a post on it, both on tumblr and on instagram, if you wanna check that out), but because it made me notice a few plot-holes and dead-ends on my original plan for WSF, so I had to do some extra brainstorming and rewriting before posting it.  
> I decided to keep my updates to a once every two-weeks ratio (at least during quarantine), as some personal issues came up, and I kinda wanna write another one-shot before the release of OTK. Speaking of which, I can’t believe we are nearly a week away from the end of TCY. Very mixed feelings about it.

_(September 1st, 2020)_

Nicola doesn’t know _how_ she won the scholarship.

She knows _why_ she would win, obviously. She’s very confident in the power of her (rather impressive, thank you very much) resume. 

But Nicola doesn’t know _how_ she won, because she hadn’t even applied for the scholarship in the first place.

Camelot High was the state’s top school. They had the best campus, the best college approval ratio, the best sports department and, according to trashy teen magazine _The Royal Rot,_ the best-looking students. It was listed amongst the best schools on the entire country, a reference to be looked up to. As it would be expected, considering it was _a private school_ with a tuition that, while not as expensive as Nicola thought previously, considering their reputation, was still not something to bat an eye at.

So, when it was announced that, for the first time ever, they’d be offering one single fully funded scholarship for a public school student, thousands of teenagers sent their applications and curriculums, hoping for a chance to get picked.

Of course, Nicola had _thought_ about applying. How many nights had she lied awake in her bed, debating whether to send her application or not? Her grades were nothing but flawless straight A+’s, she was the president of the book club, vice-president of model UN club, head of the yearbook committee, involved in many sports teams, as well as an honorable mention at the academic decathlon for two years in a row. She’d have _some_ chance of getting picked.

But there were a few issues with Nicola transferring from puny _Galvadon Public High School_ to huge _Camelot High_.

As you could probably infer by the name, Camelot High was, obviously, _at Camelot._ And Camelot and Gavaldon, while neighboring cities, were still very much not the same city. The journey from Nicola’s house to that school took about an hour and a half _minimum_. Then, there was the matter of the money she’d waste on tickets for Camelot’s very overpriced metro (honestly, Camelot’s very overpriced _everything_ ) and how she’d be pretty much _all by herself_ the entire time.

It’d be hard.

 _Very hard,_ but not impossible…

Well, _not impossible_ had it not been for Papa Pipp’s bakery.

The family business had always been Nicola’s father’s pride and joy, and a passion he shared with his daughter. Nicola worked there as both a personal hobby and a way to help with the family bills, diligently opening the bakery every single morning before school and managing their inventory, taxes and bills during weekends, under the tutelage of her Pa. He had been grooming her to inherit the place after his death since she’d been five, despite the protests of her older brothers.

Gus and Gagan had never been interested in the bakery itself, other than for its very favorable location and its ever-growing price on the real-estate market. But with Nicola in charge, unless they somehow managed to make something out of themselves (not likely, just in case you’re wondering), they’d be doomed to forever scrubbing dirty dishes and waking up long before dawn to bake.

 _‘If only Nicola got busier… If she wasn’t around as often... If she lost interest in it…’_ , she knew they probably wished every night.

And their solution came when the entire city of Galvadon started whispering about _that fancy private school’s_ scholarship. The brats must have sent her curriculum to them, because mid-july, a golden envelope came through the mail.

At first, she thought it was a prank. What kind of sketchy school used golden envelopes?

Then, she wondered if she had sent the application on accident. Which she hadn’t, the form she had filled for herself was still sitting at the bottom of her desk drawer, as it had been for the previous months.

She then went back to thinking that maybe it was a prank. A google check tells her that Camelot High did indeed send out golden envelopes (why does she feel like she should be more surprised?) but maybe someone forged it to mess with her?

And lastly, she sighed and sent them the documents through scan to finalize the transferring after getting in contact with their HR team through email.

Truthfully, Nicola _could have_ refused to go. She _could have_ turned down the offer. But holding the thick shiny envelope in her hands, seeing her name written in cursive elegant letters… Nicola was only human.

 _It’ll be fine_ , she thought.

In theory, all she had to do was wake up earlier than usual to open the bakery, catch a bus to Galvadon’s main terminal, hop into an intercity bus to Camelot, then metro herself to school just in time for the first period. If Nicola was careful and worked hard, _maintaining her grades perfect, running the bakery, taking care of her Pa and her plants, as well as keeping an eye on her brothers, while hopping between cities_ should be a piece of cake, right?

Well, turns out that, as usual, in practice, it was bit more trickier than that.

On her first day, Nicola was dead on her feet long before the sun even thought abouts rising. Camelot High’s HR department had emailed her the night before _recommending_ for her to arrive forty-five minutes earlier for a guided tour around campus, as well as sorting out her schedule.

_Did they know Nicola literally lived in another town…?_

They did, they just _didn’t care._

Regardless, she wakes up her cranky brothers to get the oven started, waits for the kitchen employees to arrive and works the register for the first few clients before Belle takes over. Nicola then gets ready for school in record time, managing to get on a bus while shoving a couple of fresh pastries in her backpack for the road.

Her family’s two store apartment, located above Papa Pipp’s bakery, is right in the middle of Galvadon’s downtown area, making for a very short trip to the terminal. Nicola walks up the gate and, after having to show her student ID to the very distrusting turnstile lady ( _yes, Nicola is old enough to catch an intercity on her own, miss, despite what her petite built might suggest)_ , climbs into the considerably nicer bus provided by Camelot’s city administration office.

She takes her most recent library rental, _One True King_ , out of her bag. Hunter, her best friend, asked her to read it, but Nicola was a bit skeptical. This series had been a bit of a hit of miss for her so far, but she did promise to tell him if it was worth the emotional investment. She shoots him a text, along with a selfie holding up the book, knowing he probably won’t see it until much later, as he had always been late for school, especially if it was the first day, and dawn was only now starting to shine through the dark sky. _Who was going to save his seat from now on…?_

Nicola takes a bite of the chocolate filled croissant, distracting herself by focusing on the narrative, barely aware of the small satellite-city of Gavaldon slowly disappearing outside her window, making way for Camelot’s lush hills and suburban houses. The bus eventually enters the medieval historic district, modern skyscrapers visible from a distance, as well as the high towers of the late-gothic-period-styled cathedral. Nicola gets out at _Four Point Station_ , Camelot’s biggest and busiest subway/bus station, shoving the book back inside her backpack and grabbing her earphones.

She follows the signs, descending the numerous staircases, making her way through the crowd. Her subway car is filled to the brim, and Nicola carefully holds onto her backpack, placing it in front of her, her other hand hanging onto the cold vertical metal bar (why were the horizontal bars so high?), planting her sneakers firmly onto the ground to avoid knocking into someone. She changes lines twice, before finally getting off at _Lion’s Meadow Station_. Then, an eight-minute walk leads her to Camelot High’s golden gates for the first time.

Nicola had seen a couple of pictures of the school campus before, but in her opinion, they don’t do justice to the real thing.

The huge stone walls catch her eye first, and had she not read a few articles beforehand, she might have thought it was an authentic medieval castle, instead of just an inspired façade designed to make homage to Camelot’s origins. It was surrounded by a beautiful garden, where many idle teenagers caught up with each other while protected from the sun by the gentle shade of tall trees, the first leaves starting to drop, announcing it was now fall. Had the students been dressed in costumes, Nicola could have imagined being on set for the next period blockbuster.

A pristine stairway parts the front lawn in half and leads her to the unnecessarily big front doors, positioned underneath a red, white and gold coat of arms sporting a sword and two eagle-headed lions. _These guys like to stick to a theme, hm?_

She walks into the entrance hall, staring in wonder at the grand aspect of it all, deciding to sit down on a bench to wait. Nicola is three minutes late, but hopefully her guide won’t mind too much. 

Quite a few students walk past her, swarming around like bees, the buzzing conversation growing in volume by the second, and five more minutes go by before Nicola, now very annoyed, stands up and starts pacing around the main hall with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

_Where is this girl?_

If Nicola had to get here earlier than usual, then her guide should be here already. She takes out her phone, looking for the email the HR sent. _Maybe her guide hadn’t recognized her, or there was more than one entrance ha−_

“Excuse me, are you Nicola Saylor?” a male voice calls from behind her.

Nicola turns around, facing velvet brown eyes.

A boy stood a couple of feet away. He was 5, maybe 6, inches taller than her, with unproportionally large shoulders compared to his thinner legs, as if he had been trying to gain some muscle but wasn’t quite sure how to do it in a balanced way. The stranger had a severe case of bed hair (one so bad it could rival _Hunter_ , which is to say a lot) and his eyes were glazed with a layer of sleepiness, a yawn escaping through his lips, like he had just rolled out of bed and came to school. His wrinkled green shirt supported the theory.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he said.

Nicola blinks, forcing down the burn on cheeks at the realization that she had been staring silently at him for the last few seconds.

“Oh,” she responds lamely, “yeah, I−, That’s me,” Nicola uncrosses her arms, fiddling with the earphone dangling out of her backpack. “I’m waiting for my tour guide.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the boy gives her a sheepish smile, “I ran a bit late today.”

Nicola lifts a brow.

“ _You’re Sophie?”_

He tilts his head to the side, confused, before blushing and turning his gaze to his feet.

“What, no, I’m− _My name is Hort._ Sophie is, hm, very _busy_ , so she asked me to do the tour on her behalf.”

“She’s busy on the first day of school?”

Hort’s blush deepens and he runs a hand through his unruly hair black hair.

“Yeah, it was, hm... An _emergency_ ,” he blurts. “She’s very sorry for not being able to show you around today, thought. Hopefully, you won’t mind sticking with me for the time being?”

Nicola could sense the discomfort and restlessness oozing off his body, along with the pleasant smell of soap, so she decided not to press further. Besides, it’s not like she cared who showed her around, as long as someone did.

“I suppose you’ll do,” she offers him a small smile to set him at ease, adjusting her backpack straps, “lead the way?”

Hort smiles back, his own backpack slung over one shoulder, and Nicola follows him towards the glass panels opposite to where she had been sitting.

.

.

.

“…Most basic bureaucracy stuff is sorted out here, near the entrance, in the reception,” he explains, as they walk through a glass slide door. “It usually takes forever to get anything done, so I recommend you start getting familiar with the desk ladies. It will spare you quite some time,” Hort whispers conspiratorially, “watch.”

“Janet!” he beams, theatrically leaning on the counter towards one of said ladies. “How are you? Did you have good summer? Your grandson doing alright? I was hoping you−”

The older woman, ( _Janet_ , Nicola supposed), lifts her heard, propping herself on her elbows on her desk, a pile of paperwork in front of her, most likely waiting to get digitized.

“I’m fine, as usual, Hort. Kyle’s been great, though, he’s just turned four! Would you like to see a picture?”

“Oh, yes! But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you maybe−”

Janet unlocks her phone, choosing a photo for him, shoving the device on his direction, ignoring his later words. Hort keeps on chatting the lady, trying to get her to focus on his request, with no success. 

Leaning closer to him, Nicola sees it’s a family picture, including the desk lady, a 40-something couple and small baby boy.

“He looks just like you,” she interrupts their conversation, “pretty cheek-bones.”

Janet’s eyes land on her for the first time, a certain brightness to them as her smiles, delighted.

“Hort, you brought a friend! Introduce us, she seems lovely!” she exclaims but doesn’t allow the boy to speak at all. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”

“I’m Nicola, ma’am.”

“Oh, _Nicola_ , what a beautiful name! Please come by more often, darling! I always see Hort with that rude blonde gi−”

“Janet,” Hort’s smile is still polite, but very, very tight. _Touchy subject?_ “Nicola’s new, I’m in charge of showing her around, but I seem to have run a bit late. Can you help us sort out her schedule, check her into the system and get her locker number?”

“ _Please?”_ Nicola adds with a tentative smile.

Janet nods, although she huffs at Hort.

“Look out, Nicola, boys these days have _no manners_.”

Soon enough, they walk out of the office, Hort with a slight frown and Nicola with her schedule, locker number, system password, a coffee and an invitation to swing by later for gossip.

“She usually loves me, I swear.”

“Yeah, _sure_ ,” Nicola replies, watching Hort’s expression turn into indignation.

“…You’re in so many AP classes,” he points out after inspecting the recently printed, still warm, piece of paper of her schedule, comparing it to the one that came through his email a few days before. “We have AP English together. And the same free period on tuesdays, thursdays and fridays... Oh, damn, you’re in Professor Lesso’s homeroom though, my condolences.”

“She’s that bad?”

“ _Worse_ ,” Hort jokes, looking over his shoulder, as if to check if said teacher had materialized behind him, “Lesso’s hella scary. She’s the head of both the art and theater departments, and _very_ strict, especially with punctuality. When I was in freshman year, I was in her homeroom. She saw me walk in a few minutes after the bell rang, _she wasn’t even inside the class yet,_ but she gave me detention for two weeks, scrubbing the entire auditorium floor wearing a clown wig.”

“ _No_ ,” Nicola stifles a laugh.

“On my knees, with a _toothbrush,_ ” he shivers, a small smile betraying his fondness of the memory, “ironically, it was how I got interested in joining the drama-club.”

“Oh, so you’re a theater kid?”

“Kinda. I mostly help backstage,” Hort shrugs. “If Lesso decides to have you scrubbing the floor I promise to lend you my wig.”

“I’m honored,” Nicola deadpans.

He checks his watch.

“Anyway, we have enough time to see the main parts of the west wing before getting you to her homeroom punctually at 8. Unless you’d prefer to get there early and save your soul…? I’ll show you the rest of the school later today, anyway.”

She should probably go to class early. It would allow her to choose a good seat, maybe chat up with some other students. She also needed to sort out her locker and figure out where the rest of her classes were.

Besides, Nicola likes being in teachers’ good books.

“…Nah, let’s see what else you’ve got at this fancy school,” she finds herself saying instead.

“Spoken like a true _scholarship_ student."

“And yet, Janet already seems to like me better than you.”

“A _feisty_ scholarship student.”

Nicola smirked.

“Oh, you haven’t seen _anything_ yet.”

Hort leads her through the so called ‘west wing’ like one would lead a tourist. He shows her around fast enough that Nicola doesn’t really have much time to linger anywhere, but slow enough to provide her with gossip about people she doesn’t know and all kinds of weird fun facts.

According to the boy, the west wing served mostly as an extra-class area, hosting most club rooms and sport spaces. They climb a huge staircase, headed to the third floor to make their way down.

The top floor held most teachers’ offices, a few fancier labs for research, as well as study rooms, some divided into small compartments for individual use, others meant for group studying, small club meetings or tutoring.

The third floor also housed the _library._

Nicola stopped walking and Hort nearly turned the corner before noticing she wasn’t with him.

 _Wow_.

Her previous school had no library. In fact, there was, as far as Nicola knew, only one public library in Galvadon and it could never compare to this one _. Not in a million years._

Nicola is paralyzed in front of the locked glass doors, peaking at the huge bookshelves containing dozens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of books, filling the double height walls for as far as she could see. Comfortable leather armchairs are all over the room, a fluffy carpet replacing the polished floor, making for a perfectly silent environment and she’s pretty sure those computers in the corner are probably the latest model.

All these books, these resources… Locked in a _private library_ for kids who could _afford_ to go here, and therefore, probably could buy any book they wanted, had their own rooms at home and owned at least one personal computer each.

“You’re a book-person, then?” Hort asks casually, eyeing the library entrance beside her, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah−” Nicola cringes at the crack in her voice, “I like to study. And read.”

“…You’re in all those AP classes. Makes sense,” he assimilates. “Oh, have I been in the company of an academic genius all this time? Forgive my insolence, Miss Saylor,” Hort mock bows, a lighter tone to his remark.

“Rise, you’ve been pardoned,” she manages to crack a smile, despite her mind still being on Hunter, back in Galvadon Public High School, having to use a textbook passed down to him by his three elder brothers. “I take you don’t go there often?”

“No, not really,” he admits, and Nicola falls back in pace with him, leaving the library behind as they turn a corner and head for the stairs to explore the second floor, “I’m more of a movie-person myself. But if you _are_ a scholar, then you should talk to Professor Sader. He’s the AP History teacher and head of the academic department. There’s, like, at least three book clubs for different genres, a debate club, model UN, academic decathlon team, chess club, philosophy cl…”

Nicola tunes him out.

To be honest, she would have loved to know all about those, but she knows that if she hears about them, she’ll be tempted to join at least two and that is not something she can’t allow herself to do.

Maybe she could spend some of her free periods in the library to study, rent some books for the trip between cities, perhaps get some for Hunter too, but Nicola didn’t want to spread herself too thin. Her scholarship depended on her maintaining her stellar grades, as well as a perfect conduct, so she needed to stay focused. _No distractions allowed._

_._

_._

_._

Unfortunately, tuning Hort out meant that she had no idea what was on the second floor of the west wing aside from the main auditorium, which she barely heard him point out as the drama club’s HQ and where most official school ceremonies were held.

They go down another set of stairs, back to the first floor and Nicola takes note of the posters, which previously had been scarce at best, that now took an almost ridiculous amount of space, all of them depicting sports (mainly basketball players), with _‘GO CAMELOT LIONS’_ stamped over them every so often. Oddly enough, Hort doesn’t immediately start leading her around, as he had done previously, instead standing still with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“… And this is the first floor,” he announces, his lips twisted into a disgusted frown. “It’s mainly sports stuff. _Nothing interesting,_ ” he turns on his heels. “C’mon, Janet said your locker was _2105_. That should be somewhere near Lesso’s class. Mine is _2176_ , so yours shouldn’t be too far. We’ve got some time left; I’ll show you how to set up a new combination.”

“...You’re not gonna show me the sports department?” Nicola questions him, the disappointment clear on her voice. “I was curious to see it. It’s very famous,” she points to the shrine-like, filled-to-the-brim, trophy shelf on the end of the main hall.

“I mean it’s kinda nice, I guess,” Hort admits, begrudgingly turning around. “Sports are a big deal for the school. Tradition and stuff,” he scoffs. “Behold, _the first floor of the west wing_ , where we have all three gymnasiums: the fancy one, the nice-ish one and the shitty one; the indoor pool, nutritionist and coaches’ offices and the locker rooms. Outside, we have a football field, a soccer field and a running track.”

“If you pay attention, you can almost feel the _‘assholes-only’ magnetic field_ ,” he adds, under his breath, but Nicola hears him anyway.

“I take you’re not a sports fan,” it wasn’t a question.

“I don’t care about sports,” Hort crosses his arms, “I just think that our culture worships idiots like _that guy_ , too much,” he points at a handsome blond basketball player in a huge poster, “instead of people who actually put in effort. He doesn’t have to work for anything! And still, he gets to run the world. We worship a bunch of spoiled brats chasing a ball−”

“Hort, do you work out?”

He seems to come back to earth, rant interrupted.

“What?”

“Do you work out?”

“…Yes?”

“Good.” Nicola glared, “then you know it takes effort and discipline to be in shape,” she continued. “I played in every sports club at my old school and nearly made captain of the volleyball team. We practiced a lot and still, my team didn’t even make past sectionals. I don’t know him,” she points to the boy in the poster, “but I bet he practices a lot more to be able to be on a poster in _this school_. Sports are a combination of hard work and talent. They deserve respect,” Nicola is practically fuming at this point. “You know, only _assholes_ need to cut other people down to raise themselves up.” 

Hort is stunned into silence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish and Nicola wonders if someone had ever called him out on his shit before.

“…I thought you were a _book-person_?” he asks numbly, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re in so many AP classes?!”

“What, are jocks supposed to be dumb or something?” her glare deepens. “You can’t be both?”

His expression betrays him. Nicola rolls her eyes, walking past him, headed towards one of the gyms, to look through the small window by the door.

“Nicola!” Hort calls after her. “Wait!”

She gives him an unimpressed stare, seeing him flinch.

“ _I’m sorry._ I shouldn’t have said that. Many guys in both the basketball and football teams are jerks, including Tedros,” he pauses, and Nicola presumes that’s poster-boy’s name, “but for what’s worth, I think you’ll get along with the girls in the volleyball team, they’re good people.” Hort then tugs on her arm. “Come on, I’ll show you the fancy new gym.”

Nicola allows him to lead her down the hall, but as they approach the window of said gym, she almost wishes she hadn’t said anything at all and just gone to class.

This gymnasium is just as _gorgeous_ as, _if not more gorgeous than_ , the library. Nicola stares at the spotless floors, the training props in the corner, the red and gold uniforms from graduated stars hanging in the wall and the balls stacked up in shelves near the bleachers. _She imagines herself coming here every day after school, wearing the uniform, calling this place home, making friends with some of the future talents of international volleyball…_

Camelot High’s volleyball team was _legendary_. They had always been. Many stars’ careers started in this very gym, but in the last five years or so, Camelot’s Lions became a fan favorite and a must watch in every volleyball championship. Nicola had been thrilled to play against them during sectionals last year. Her team had lost, of course, 3x0, but just playing _against_ them had been a terrific experience.

If she were to play _with_ them…

No. No, no, no. She couldn’t. She already had too much on her plate!

_…But maybe she could make some room?_

“…I think Dot mentioned their titular libero graduated last year. Tryouts should be later this week,” Hort informs her and Nicola feels her brain _scream_ for her to not do this to herself. She ignores it for now. “I’d advise you to talk to Agatha about it, because Hester can be, well… _terrifying,_ but given the way you nearly ripped my head off without actually killing me just now, I’ll presume you can hold your ground pretty well.”

 _Agatha_ and _Hester_.

After losing her game, Nicola had stayed to watch Camelot’s Lions crush the other teams at sectionals. Everybody knew those two sophomore players were Ella Cinder’s ace combo, a deadly well-oiled-point-machine. Now they were _co-captains_. Maybe this would be the year Camelot brought home the national championship trophy…

_Oh, how Nicola loved trophies…_

A loud bell saves her from agonizing over the matter for much longer.

Hort curses, running back through the now empty main hall and then dragging her by the hand in the midst of the panicked teenage crowd when they reach the east wing.

The halls here were flanked by white and red lockers with golden labels and multiple classroom doors, all very similar to one another, which does not help with Nicola’s sense of direction at all. Hort mutters something inaudible to himself and they climb the stairs to the second floor, turning right, then left, then left again, before he freezes right in front of class 2-E, and Nicola collides with his backpack.

A severe looking woman comes their way with long strides, parting the remaining crowd like Moses crossing the red sea. She’s not doing anything particularly incriminating, but by the way she watches the doorway, Nicola doesn’t need Hort to tell her who she is.

Unless Nicola somehow managed to tele-transport herself inside, Professor Lesso would still see her walk in after the bell rang. And she’d be on detention. On her first day. 

_So much for perfect conduct._

Hort sighs, turning to her, then looking at something past her shoulder.

“Consider this my _‘welcome aboard’_ gift, scholarship student,” he whispers to her, pushing her towards the lockers opposite to the classroom door, approaching Professor Lesso before Nicola can protest, like a deer throwing itself in front on a monster truck.

“Hey Professor Lesso!” he greets the woman with a tentative charming smile. She glares at him. “I, hm, had some great ideas… For the musical!”

The teacher lifts a perfect brow, hawk eyes still on the door.

“… We could implement some new, hm... new stage settings! Combine it with the lights, maybe put a fountain and an electronic bear…”

He gesticulates behind his back, his fingers twitching nervously. 

“…And some new choreography! You know some tango inspired stuff! Like this−”

Hort then does something either unbelievably brave or stupidly suicidal.

Maybe both.

He grabs Professor Lesso by the arm, twisting them into the most awkward a tango-like position he could, flipping them so she was no longer facing the door, purposefully making her drop the suitcase she was carrying, which opens itself automatically, letting a dozen of important-looking papers fly around the hall.

Nicola has no time to be horrified, because Hort mouths a rather terrified _‘go’_ , utter chaos now installed in the hallway as students gather around to see the commotion. She mouths back a _‘thank you’,_ her feet moving on their own accord, slipping inside class 2-E in a flash, flinging herself in the first seat available, near the middle, in the third row.

She tries to ignore the butterflies in her belly and suppress the goofy grin spreading across her lips, but it is quite impossible. Maybe, _just maybe_ , Hort wasn’t a complete asshole.

.

.

.

High school had a way of making everything feel way more dramatic than it actually was, didn’t it?

As soon as Nicola sat down, hooking one of her bag straps to the backrest, the classroom that had previously been dead silent, starts to fill up with buzz. Many students were whispering, giggling behind their hands, a few looked at her out of the corner of their eyes with disdain, offering a comment to the person beside them, some were blatantly staring and there was even a girl who outright pointed to her, clutching her imaginary pearls in silent horror.

Realization comes slowly.

At first, Nicola wonders if maybe her hair had gotten disrelished during the run or if maybe something about her outfit screamed _‘peasant’_. Maybe she smelled like _public school_. But then she notices that the girl wasn’t pointing at Nicola herself, but at _her chair_.

A more careful look at her surroundings provides her the answer as to why.

Right in front of her, an attractive girl with a side shave gives her a curious stare, the red and white jacket she wore exhibiting the words ‘ _head cheerleader’_ in gold. Beside the girl, in Nicola’s diagonal, sat the handsome blond basketball player Hort had named earlier, _poster-boy_ , Tedros, whom she’ll presume, is Camelot High’s _big shot_. To her right a muscular boy with a crew cut stares somewhere past her, holding back a laugh.

 _Out of the frying pan into the fire_ , hm?

Nicola feels a lump of embarrassment climbing up her throat, sinking into the chair, glaring at the blank surface of the desk. Just her luck that she’d accidentally sit with the popular kids. At least homeroom was only half an hour long; after that, Nicola would have plenty of time to run out of the room to guarantee a seat in the very front of the class during AP Chemis−

“You’re in my seat.”

The sentence cuts down all other noise in the room, except for crew-cut-boy’s muffled laughter and the AC rumble in the background, as well as the remaining sounds of hallway mayhem. It was spoken by a newcomer, whose heels clicked in the silent classroom loudly.

Nicola has yet to raise her eyes from the desk, but she can feel the ice-cold glare on her skin.

“ _You’re in my seat,_ ” the girl repeats herself, louder, more forcefully, despite now being right beside Nicola, as if she could have somehow not heard her the first time. “ _Get out._ ”

A beat passes and Nicola wonders how she should go about this.

She isn’t very confrontational, despite what Hunter and her brothers might tell you. Years of experience working the counter at Papa Pipp’s have taught her how to tame her temper to deal with all kinds of rude idiots and unpleasant jerks. Some people were just _not worth the trouble. The obvious and easy way to deal with customers like that was simple_ , Pa had told her many times, _be the bigger person_. _Kill them with kindness._

Be gracious, composed and polite.

But personally, it’s been a very long, very stressful morning and Nicola isn’t in a very gracious, composed or polite mood. She woke up very early, took a bus to another city by herself, had two croissants and reception-coffee for breakfast, called her guide (and only ally) an asshole, is now considering joining a sports team (even though she swore to herself she wouldn’t get distracted from her grades) and nearly got detention on her first day at a new school where _everyone_ was more privileged than her.

So, she decides to indulge herself, just this once, crossing her arms, leaning back in the chair, faking a nonchalance she did not feel as she met emerald green eyes.

“No.”

The classroom exploded with a chorus of _‘oooohhhh’s._

“What do you mean ‘no’?” the other girl asked, hostility (while still very present) giving way to plain incredulity, like she couldn’t believe Nicola had just directly talked to her. “It’s my seat, _get out_.”

Her icy glare had now evolved into a deep a glower, perfect brows furrowed, model-like features twisted into a scowl. The pretty blonde had one manicured hand on her hip and the other planted itself on Nicola’s desk, pastel pink nails scratching its smooth surface.

“… Does it have your name on it?”

“What?!”

“The seat,” Nicola makes sure to emphasize every syllable, to sound as condescending as she possibly could, rising from the chair, staring the blond girl down, despite being shorter than her, even without the peach colored heels, “ _does it have your name on it_?”

Absolute silence.

One kid snickers nervously, before the thick tension in the air silences him.

Nicola relishes in the way the girl’s hand leaves the desk to tighten into a furious fist, her entire face red with unspoken wrath. For a second, she wonders if she went too far. Would this skinny-barbie-wannabe actually attempt to fight her…? 

Over a seat in _homeroom_ of all things…?

She doesn’t get to find out.

“ _What do you think you’re doing_ ?” Professor Lesso’s voice thunders through the classroom, a murderous hiss that sends a shiver down her spine. “ _Sit down. Both of you_.”

Nicola’s legs automatically give out under her, sitting back in the infamous chair, pulling out her notebook to copy her schedule onto the first page.

“You−” blonde girl screeches at her, the high-pitched noise nearly drawing blood from Nicola’s ears in its sharpness.

“ _Are you deaf_ ?” Professor Lesso glared at barbie with flaring violet eyes. “ _Now, Sophie.”_

The girl huffs, but Nicola notices the goosebumps on her exposed skin. She throws her bag on the desk right behind hers, sitting down, her eyes staring daggers at the back of Nicola’s head.

“Now, we shall begi−”

“Hm, Professor Lesso?” a familiar-looking tall girl appeared at the doorway, politely knocking once, while trying to balance a stack of papers on her arms. Nicola can see her visibly cringe when the teacher’s fulminant gaze lands on her. “Coach Dovey asked me to deliver these to you…? She, hm, wrote me a note and…”

“ _Sit. Down._ ”

Nicola watches the girl nod, awkwardly shoving the papers on Lesso’s desk, handing the teacher the note in a hurry, avoiding her eyes. Even without reading the words on the back of her red and white jacket, Nicola knows she’s looking at Agatha Woods, current co-captain of Camelot High’s volleyball team.

Having already seen Agatha’s serious and calculated demeanor in court during last winter’s sectionals, Nicola can’t help but suppress a chuckle seeing the ever steel-nerved setter fumbling nervously with her backpack’s strap, speed walking across the room to a seat near the back of the class, right by the window.

When she finally sits down, the desk screeches noisily, echoing in the dead silence.

“Now that we are all here,” Professor Lesso spoke menacingly, “it’s time for us to _finally begin,_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicola and Sophie hating each other at first sight? That’s so gay, Alexa, play ‘what is this feeling?’.  
> Also, I went there and said jock!Nicola and Hunter rights, because I like the handbook!Nicola and want to give my two cents on their friendship, okay? Fight me.  
> See you all in two weeks or less! Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter, as well on OTK, although if you’re seeing this after June 2nd, make sure not to leave spoilers on your comment. Personally, I don’t mind, in fact, send me them spoilers on my DMs, but for the sake of the community, let’s spare the souls of those who actually want to read the book.  
> To keep up with my progress on the chapters, see some self-indulgent moodboards and know what I’m working on, you can now find me on instagram (@_devourer_of_books_)!  
> Yeah, I am now one of the cool kids… kinda.


	5. coach said to 'fake right and break left'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time in WSF:  
> Nicola starts her first day in Camelot High, managing to make both a friend and an enemy in the same morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> As promised, I bring you chapter five.  
> I did take my time with this chapter, mostly because, as usual, Tedros gave me some trouble. I also had a problem with the length, and I had to cut four scenes out, one of which, is now available at the companion story for WSF, ‘every memory of the sweet sunshine’ which is where I’m going to store my favorite scenes that I had to cut out for one reason or another. The other three might or might not end up there, depending on how well I can make them work by themselves.  
> Thank you everyone for taking the time to leave kudos, comment and bookmark. You guys are the sweetest!

(September 1st, 2020) 

_‘This is going to be one long year, isn’t it?’_ , Agatha thinks to herself as she ties up her hair’s longer front pieces away from her face. Years of practice have granted her the ability to do this one hair-style without having to look into the mirror, but she takes a quick peek while brushing her teeth, just to be sure it didn’t look horrid. 

Fortunately, it didn’t. But she did look _tired_ , the dark circles underneath her eyes giving away the fact that she did not have a good night at all.

She collects her pajamas, about to unlock the door and return to her room, when she recalls the black object awaiting her on the sink counter. _This knee brace I swear to-_

With gritted teeth, she takes off her jeans, slipping the brace over her right knee, double checking to make sure it was secure, before putting the pants back on again. It wasn’t _bad_. The black band showing through the ripped blue cloth looked actually, dare she say, _kinda trendy_.

A few days before, her doctor had given her the green light to start exercising again (as long as she warmed up appropriately), and liberated her from having to wear the brace. Of course, she recommended that Agatha wore it during volleyball practices once she returned to them, but she didn’t _need_ to wear it 24/7. 

Still, Agatha knows better than to go to school without it, as Hester might eat her alive and then let the rest of the team chew on whatever was left of her if she dared to show up brace-less.

She leaves the bathroom, going back to the room she shared with Sophie, hoping to at least take a nap before they left for school.

(Well, _‘shared’_ was a strong word for it. More like it was Sophie’s room, which just so happens to contain Agatha’s bed and some of her stuff in the corner.)

Agatha doesn’t bother to close the door behind her, flopping back down on her bed. The cozy covers call her to dreamland, and she tries to force her eyes to stay open, knowing the alarm would go off soon...

And at exactly 6:30 am, the obnoxious beeping pattern starts, getting louder and louder at each _beep_. Across the room Sophie groaned, trying to muffle the sound by placing a pillow over her head.

“Turn it off _,_ ” Agatha yawns miserably with her hands over her ears.

As her sister remains unmoving, Agatha throws her own pillow at her, the fluffy object hitting Sophie on the arm.

“ _I hate school_ ,” the blonde grumbles, crawling towards the noisy object, palming blindly for a few seconds, before yanking off her eye mask and hitting the button forcefully, sending the clock tumbling towards the ground. “You’re already took a shower and got dressed,” she observes, “I thought Dovey had banned you from training ‘til next week. Who died?”

Agatha glares silently at the ceiling. _Dear God, how she wishes she were asleep._

“You better not have left the bathroom floor wet,” Sophie warns her with a yawn of her own, once it became clear that she wouldn’t get an answer. 

“What time are we leaving?” Agatha ignores the accusation, shifting into a sitting position, leaning back into her arms.

Sophie sighs loudly. Agatha rolls her eyes.

“Around 7:30,” her sister drags herself away from the pink covers, towards the chair where her pre-planed outfit had been awaiting her since the night before. “I’ll be damned if I let Beatrix steal my parking spot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be there early today?” the younger twin inquires. “You’re part of the welcoming committee.”

“I took care of it,” it’s all Sophie offers and Agatha decides she does not care enough to insist.

Usually, she prefered to walk to school instead of riding with Sophie, for a bunch of reasons. The main one was their schedules.

Since the basketball team had won priority to reserve the best gym during the free period in the afternoon for the last two years (and Agatha had a _feeling_ they were going to win priority this year _again_ ), the volleyball team reserved their practice time at that particular gym in the mornings and used whichever other gym was available to them that year during the afternoon. 

But even on the rare occasion that Agatha didn’t have practice and got to sleep in, she would still rather walk than go to school with her sister. Not only because it reminded people that they were, in fact, _related_ , but also because she found it to be a good time to think and get her feelings in order.

Yet, for the sake of resting the damn knee, she would just have to bear it for now.

“By the way, where do you sit at French?” Sophie inquiries, untying the silk cap she used to protect her hair in her sleep.

Agatha lifts a brow.

“...Near the window. Why?” 

“Polux makes people sit in the same chair for the entire school year,” Sophie replies as if it were obvious, “I’m gonna need to sit behind you to pass.” 

“And since when do you take _French?”_

“Since Castor forbid me from showing up at his Spanish class ever again,” she admits with a frown. “Yours are on thursdays and fridays, right?”

“They are,” Agatha confirms, a small smirk in the corner of her mouth, “but I can’t help you cheat in French, even if I wanted to.”

“Pray tell, why not?” Sophie gives an annoyed look, brushing her fingers through her newly released hair.

“I’m taking _AP French_ with Professor Uma this year,” she states, maintaining her tone as neutral as possible, masking her amusement. 

“Aggie!” her sister protests, pouting with crossed arms. “Ugh, do you still have your notes from last year at least?”

“I do,” Agatha nods, “but you know Polux’s quizzes are super hard, right? You can copy my homework, but you’re still gonna have to actually study for those.”

Sophie groans loudly.

“Don’t be like that,” she sinks into the mattress with her eyes closed, “I’ll help you with it. Now, go take your shower and wake me up when you go downstairs for breakfast, or we’re gonna be late.”

Agatha hears Sophie mutter a retort under her breath, but chooses to remain still, as if she were already napping. Her sister walks out the door, leaving it semi-open. A few seconds of silence go by peacefully before her sister is confronted with the, _undeniably wet,_ bathroom floor.

_“Agatha!”_

She chuckles, falling asleep with a smile on her face.

.

.

.

When Agatha walks into Dovey’s office, about an hour later, Hester is already there, in all her post-workout glory. 

Camelot High’s opposite hitter was only an inch taller than Agatha herself, but she somehow managed to look 10x more terrifying. While both players were considered intimidating for their height and preference for darker colors, in terms of actual body-built, Agatha’s beanpole silhouette couldn’t hold a candle to Hester’s more muscular and threatening figure. The setter might have a emo-inspired aesthetic, but one could barely tell that when she was in her uniform, while something about Hester was _undoubtedly goth_ , even without her dark makeup or clothes. 

Maybe it was her hair, jet black with red streaks, or her numerous piercings. Personally, if she had to guess, Agatha would bet on the demon tattoo on her neck. 

She had been there when Hester got it done, on her 16th birthday, back in the beginning of freshman year. They weren’t dating at the time, and Agatha remembers being very confused as to why Hester would wanna spend her birthday with _her_ of all people...

Back then she had been so _oblivious_ it was honestly embarrassing.

_...That had been such a great day, though._

Practice had ended early due to the festivities. Hester’s birthday was the day before halloween, during Camelot’s traditional _autumn festival week_ , so they had gone to the medieval district to get a laugh out of the cringy decorations people put up. Then, they went to this cozy coffee shop to get some tea and pastries _(it totally wasn’t a date)_ a few blocks down from the main plaza. Across the street from it, there had been a tattoo parlor and-

“Well, someone is in a good mood,” Hester lifts a brow, taking in the small fond smile that had made its way to Agatha’s lips unconsciously. “Slept in?”

She makes sure to fix her expression into aloofness, mindful of her body language as she took a seat beside her.

“Something like that, yeah.” 

Thankfully, Coach Dovey saves them from the painful awkwardness of it all by doing most the talking.

For the next twenty minutes, the older woman reiterates exactly what she had told them back in may: being captain came with many responsibilities. From running morning practices to doing monthly reports on each team member’s performance and progress, they were expected to be an example of _excellence_. They were both mentors and leaders to the other girls. From now on, they were to be the first ones to arrive and the last to leave, a coherent union of _discipline_ and _team-work,_ and-

“And all that being said,” Dovey mutters, at last, “I have both your new jerseys and jackets, as well as your first tasks as captains.”

Hester practically snatches the package out of the coach’s hands, putting aside the jacket (probably planning on trying it on after she hit the showers). Agatha watches as her dark eyes shine while she inspects her jerseys, almost as if she was in a trance. 

Agatha slips her arms through the sleeves of her own jacket, getting used to the piece; at least it was as comfy as it looked. Then, she shoves the jerseys inside her bag. 

To be honest, she didn’t really understand the need for new jerseys. They weren’t new members; shouldn’t the jacket be enough? These jerseys (three red with white, meant for practices, and two white with red, meant for official matches) looked exactly the same as the ones she had at home, save for the golden lining on her number, ‘ _02’_ , and on her name, ‘ _Woods'_. It was probably what got Hester so excited about them, though.

Maybe it’s meant to be symbolic or something; Agatha wouldn’t know.

“Today, I need you to pin the tryout posters at the east wing boards, as well put up the sign-up list at near the cafeteria,” Coach Dovey continues, pointing to a medium sized box near the corner of the room containing a handful of said posters. “I’ll leave the initial selective process this friday up to you, but I need a report on the finalists by next tuesday, so we can have the callbacks on wednesday and decide the final cut together by next thursday. That way, we divulge the list for the varsity team friday morning and start official practices on monday.”

Both girls nod, and the coach is quick to dismiss them quickly after.

Hester is out the door with half of the posters and the sign-up sheet in hand, Agatha about to follow her, when Dovey calls her name.

“ _Agatha,_ ” the older woman gives her a careful look, “have you been taking care of yourself?”

Beyond the sharpness of her stare, Agatha saw her mentor’s sincere concern for her condition. It made her feel a bit embarrassed actually. 

Out of all the reactions to her accident back in august, Coach Dovey’s had been the one she’d feared most. Agatha had been so scared of failing her, _of being a disappointment,_ that she shivered during the entire phone call.

Agatha is no newbie, she’s been playing volleyball since she was nine. At this point, she knew very well how to avoid dumb injuries. She knew she’d been going overboard with training after she returned from Avalon. Even _Sophie_ had warned her that she was being uncharacteristically careless. 

But her head had been so messy! She had needed some sort of distraction... And well, it’s very hard to think of your teen angst when you start training _9 hours per day, everyday_. 

Honestly, it was a miracle that her imprudence had only cost her a scare and an awkward field trip to the hospital with Dot and Hester, as well as a few weeks of mandatory rest; it could have been _infinitely worse_ and Agatha knew it.

After she told Dovey what happened (and how she knew she’d been reckless and stupid and wouldn’t do it ever again), she had been expecting a lecture. Maybe some screaming, like Hester had.

But all the coach had said was _‘I’m glad you’re alright’._

“Yes,” Agatha replies with a small smile, pointing out the black band showing beneath her jeans, “I’ve been very careful. I’ll be able to go back to training next week, right?”

“As long as you take it easy,” Coach Dovey conceded. “Are you in Professor Lesso’s homeroom again this year?”

Agatha nods.

“I’ll write you a note then. Could you take these,” she gestures to the many papers on her desk, “to her, please?”

“Sure. What are these?” she asks, gathering the pile in her arms, under her half of the posters, as Dovey wrote her a hasty note.

“Paperwork Professor Lesso had me look over. I take your sister has informed you of the current… _situation_ , of the theater department?”

The setter answers noncommittally with a head motion. As if Sophie could’ve possibly been _quiet_ about it. She had been complaining to Agatha for months about the lack of support for the department, until she suspiciously stopped, right after changing the play from the old classic _King Aaron and the Knights of the Square Table_ to the modern _The Tale of Safiya and Angelica: The Musical._

Don’t get Agatha wrong, she likes The Tale of Safiya and Angelica as much as the next person. The original book trilogy is fantastic, the 90’s movies were great, the 2010’s remakes were good-ish enough (except the middle one, it was cursed and a cash grab and Agatha will fight that director if she ever met him), the new book trilogy was… not as good as the original but had some good moments (book 6, oh _book 6)_ and well, the musical adaptation songs were _absolute fire_.

(Don’t tell anyone: Agatha works-out to the battle instrumentals way more often than she’s willing to admit.)

But _The Tale of Safiya and Agatha: The Musical_ , no matter how good of a musical it was, was still a musical. Camelot High wasn’t exactly known for its abundance on theater kids. 

Yet, she had no doubt Sophie had a plan for that. One that Agatha had no intention of being a part of.

.

.

.

Outside, Hester is leaning against the wall, her posters under one arm and the sign-up sheet in hands.

“You sure took your time,” the opposite says, moving to close the door behind the other girl, mindful not to hit her with a poster accidentally.

Part of Agatha wishes she had, just so they had _something_ to talk about.

“You waited for me,” she points out bluntly after a few seconds. A familiar rash threatens to go up her neck. “You, hm, didn’t have to.”

The ‘ _not anymore’_ goes unspoken, as do many other things.

Hester doesn’t give her an answer, the tip of her ears red. She turns on her heels, fiddling uncomfortably with the list as they walk down the hall. Agatha doesn’t think she has ever seen her look this _anxious_ in the entirety of the nearly three years they’ve known each other for. 

It’s unsettling, it feels _wrong_ and Agatha hates it.

“She just wanted me to deliver these to Lesso,” she offers, even though Hester didn’t explicitly ask. Agatha is not normally a chatterbox, _neither of them are_ , but she will take her chances making small talk if it means diffusing the tension.

The taller girl remains silent, but the side-glance she gives her is loud enough.

“...And she also wanted to check if I’ve been _behaving_ ,” Agatha admits through gritted teeth.

“Have you?” Hester inquiries, not mockingly but quite friendly either. 

“Yes.”

Her ex lifts a brow, now fully facing her. If she wasn’t carrying an armful of posters, Agatha thinks she might have crossed her arms too.

“ _Yes,_ ” Agatha insists, rolling her eyes, her grip on the papers tightening. 

They make their first stop at the board on the first floor of the east wing, near the entrance. Hester carefully places the list on top of the paperwork in Agatha’s arms, arranging her remaining posters underneath her arm as she unrolls the first one.

“Mona did a good job with these,” she comments, taking the spare pins out of the small pot and fixing the poster onto the cork surface, “they look nice.”

“Yeah, she did,” Agatha replies, cocking her head to the side. “I like the colors she used. Makes it stand out more.” The blue volleyball posters definitely wouldn’t be overlooked, the bright electric blue against a full board of white, red and black.

_“You’ve always liked blue better than red.”_

There’s nothing inherently wrong with that observation, per se. It’s a valid one. It’s also true. Agatha’s favorite color is blue. That’s not a _super top confidential secret;_ many people assume it’s black, sometimes red, and Agatha just doesn’t bother correcting them.

But something about the way the information rolled off Hester’s tongue felt as if _it was_. Somehow, Agatha doubts Hester was talking about just her color palette preferences. She gives her a look, wanting to ask her what she meant, but again, there’s just too much left unspoken.

They head silently to the next board. It’s just a short walk down the hall and to the right, but if feels like a marathon. 

Agatha breaks first.

“So,” she clears her throat, “how are we doing the tryouts on friday? 3x3 rounds or do we save those for callbacks and lead with a circuit?”

Hester’s shoulders tense up.

“I thought you were suspended ‘til monday.”

“I am,” the setter agrees, scrutinizing her ex’s stone-carved expression, frowning, “but what kind of captain doesn't show up for tryouts?”

“The kind that needs to _rest_ ,” Hester tells her as she pins the next poster.

“ _Hester,_ ” Agatha hisses in warning, “I’m fine.”

 _That’s not why you don’t want me there,_ Agatha wants to say. _Don't use this as an excuse to punish me._

“You could have been seriously injured, you know.”

 _If you know why, then bring it up if you dare, coward,_ Hester doesn’t say, but she might as well have.

“I needed to practice, I spent six weeks doing nothing.”

“And whose fault is that?” Hester provoques, barely louder than a whisper, and Agatha swallows a few curses, trying to keep her temper in check. Instead, she simply says:

“My sister needed me.”

“Did she? Then where was she when _you_ needed _her?”_

“Hester, I had a _grade I_ _knee sprain_ from too much jumping, it’s not like I've been run over from by a truck-”

“And yet,” the opposite argues through gritted teeth, “you needed to call me to get you to the _hospital_ , because Sophie was _too busy_ to help her own sister.”

“I called _Dot,_ not you,” Agatha responds curtly as they approach the next board, near the freshman classrooms. “In fact, I specifically told her _not_ to bring you along. And we only went to the hospital because _you_ insisted. It would have been fine.”

Agatha does not tell Hester that she almost called her on impulse, but caught herself just as she was about to enter the number 10 on her speed-dial, choosing to scroll for Dot’s contact instead.

Hester picks a random poster, pinning it to the board so aggressively that Agatha was actually surprised it didn’t go through the wall.

They keep walking in silence, up the stairs to next floor.

“I thought we agreed to be _friends_ ,” the taller girl says.

“We did,” Agatha concedes.

“But?”

“But I need _space_.”

“More than the _five months_ you’ve been practically _ignoring me_ for?” 

_There it is._

As usual, Hester’s expression is hard to read and Agatha couldn’t tell you what is going on inside her head. These days, Agatha couldn’t even tell you what was going on inside her own head.

 _‘Is there still something between you two?’_ Callis’ voice echoes in her mind.

There is _too much_ , and it was too early in the morning for that.

“Agatha− ”

“Fine, you can do the initial tryouts friday morning _by yourself_. But I need you to record it, ask _Anadil_ to do it for you, I don't know, so we can make a list together during friday afternoon and split it to get started on the report over the weekend.”

Hester doesn't look like she’s going let go of the previous subject just yet, so Agatha cuts her to it, balancing the paper pile in one of her arms, grabbing the remaining posters out of the girl’s hands and shoving the sign up sheet to her instead.

“Look, go put up the list and hit the showers, or you'll be late to class. I’ll finish up the posters and text you later, alright?”

Agatha makes sure not to look back as she walks away, for both of their sakes.

.

. 

.

(September 4th, 2020) 

So, far Agatha has been avoiding Tedros Pendragon for four days. But she’ll give him some credit, the boy was persistent.

At first, she thought she’d be able to get away with not having to actively avoid him at all. In fact, Agatha was counting on Tedros forgetting all about her. Clearly, as they has been classmates for _two years_ and he still hadn’t recognized her then, his memory wasn’t the best, and to be honest, Agatha would not mind if they never spoke again. 

(It would surely spare her some peace of mind.)

He had looked so _vulnerable_ and _lonely_ that night _,_ that just thinking about it made Agatha’s heart feel heavy. No matter how much of an entitled snob he was, at that moment, debt or no debt to his mother, she would still have wanted to help him.

_What an atrocious feeling it was, to empathize with someone you were determined to not like._

He was _Tedros Pendragon._ He was rich, handsome, popular and pretentious as they come. He was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with high school sports. He was the reason why the school’s budgeting and marketing was so wanky. He had no right making Agatha feel _bad_ for him. 

And yet, she could not get the image of the boy shivering in that garden, curled up on a bench, all by himself, out of her head all summer.

After she had left him with the cookies and went back inside, it took thirty minutes for her to find Sophie, whom had been dancing with some college boys on the second floor, and drag her home. Thankfully, her sister didn’t ask any questions after Agatha informed her she had been in the basement watching the karaoke competition, instead focusing on telling Agatha all about her own night. 

Agatha told Callis something similar when they arrived at the apartment, and in a way, it was almost as if the party had happened in a vacuum. She even wondered if maybe she hallucinated the entire thing.

It would be for the best if their paths never crossed again.

Unfortunately, judging by the way he had _stared_ at her during Lesso’s homeroom on tuesday, despite sitting nowhere near her and having to do it over his shoulder, that would not be the case.

Ditching him after homeroom had been easy enough, as was to do so during lunch hour. After all, just as Tedros is a magnet for attention, Agatha is a master at going unnoticed. 

The true problem started when she figured out that not only on was he at her homeroom, but this year, they also had AP History and Chemistry Lab together.

_Lord forbid Agatha ever gets a break._

At AP History, on wednesday, Agatha had desperately engaged in conversation with a few other girls who wanted some info on the initial tryouts. Nevermind that she should probably redirect them to Hester. Even shielded by teenage girls, she could feel his eyes on her. She barely managed to avoid him as she left, flying out of the room as soon as the bell rang.

During Chem Lab on thursday, she made sure to sit with Ravan, near the back of the classroom, but her plans had been ruined when Professor Yuba announced he’d be the one to assign the pairs. And now, Agatha was now stuck with Chaddick, _Tedros’ best friend_ , as a lab-partner for the rest of the school year, sitting two rows in front of said best friend. 

She had worked on projects for Geography with Chaddick before, he was chill dude, even if a bit of a frat-boy at times. As Yuba could have assigned _Tedros himself_ to her, she wasn’t about to complain, but it did make it trickier for her to evade him.

Today, she escaped him at lunch again, and at AP History, which just so happened to be her last class of the day. _4x0 to Agatha_ , and counting.

She sneaks towards her locker to dump her textbooks there before meeting Hester. Agatha shoves most of her books inside it without much ceremony, keeping only two on her backpack, to do some studying over the weekend. Hopefully she and Hester would agree on who would make callbacks straight away and she would be home early.

Agatha hears the footsteps way before she sees him, and she _knows_ it’s him because who else would be roaming the halls of the third floor of the east wing on a friday after class?

Her feet tell her to bolt, but when she hears him sigh, she decide she’ll let him have this one.

Fine. _3x1._

She slams locker shut, the sound echoing loudly on the empty hallway, making Tedros Pendragon, who had been leaning against a neighboring locker, just out of her sight, jump out of his skin, before stepping closer to her, looking very much annoyed.

“You are one hard girl to track down, _Agatha Woods_.” 

She crossed her arms, mirroring his glare.

Tedros was looking all too comfortable, his attire quite similar to what he had been wearing at the party more than a month ago, save for the red captain jacket. 

_Did she look half as douchey when she wore hers? One could only wonder._

“I do take a lot of pride on that,” Agatha admits, adjusting her backpack strap and turning her back to him, starting to walk away. 

Tedros huffs behind her, falling into step silently beside her.

“You were avoiding-”

“Yes.”

Agatha can’t decide if the expression on his face means he was actually surprised or just offended. Maybe both.

“You were avoiding me,” he repeats.

“You already said that.”

His mouth opens and closes, with no sound, and she takes the opportunity to make a sharp turn to the left. Unfortunately, as previously stated, Tedros is persistent.

“Yes, I was avoiding you,” Agatha sighs as he caughts up with her. “Good job though; I didn’t even hear you sneaking up on me at a completely empty hallway until you _sighed_. Did you tip toe all the way there?”

She is being sarcastic of course, either he doesn’t pick up on it or chose to ignore her.

“Well, I had to take the long way around to your locker,” he explains, though his cheeks are bit red.

“ _You knew where my locker was?_ ”

She had presumed he had asked Chaddick for her name and basic info, but it wasn’t as if she was super chummy with the vice-captain of the basketball team either.

“I looked for you at volleyball tryouts today. You weren’t there. The other captain told me where it was and that you might be there after class.”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. Her brain started to shut down with the information that Tedros Pendragon went to her volleyball practice and asked _Hester_ about her. And she had _answered_ _him_. Hester was going to have some questions for her, wasn’t she?

_So much for their interactions happening in a vacuum._

Agatha stops by the vending machine near the corner, inserting a bill in it, typing the familiar numbers. A package of cookies drops with a _clang_ , and before Agatha can reach for them, Tedros is already holding them hostage.

“Are these any good?” he asks, as if immune to the angry stare she gave him, inspecting the tiny letter in the back for ingredients. “Oh they are definitely not sugar free. Or vegan.”

“My aunt’s are better,” she states simply, before ripping the package out of his hands, “but these aren’t bad.”

“Except _they are_. There’s enough sugar in that package to kill a small child.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling you did not chase me down for four days to apply to be my nutritionist.”

Tedros expression suddenly turns very serious.

“The, hm, conversation we had. In the garden. And the one we overheard-” 

Agatha feels herself soften almost instantly, despite herself. _Disgusting, stop-_

“I haven’t told anyone.”

He looks relieved.

“You… haven’t?”

“No.”

“And you're… not going to?”

“It’s not any of my business, is it?” Agatha justifies, lowering her voice as they have now made it to the stairs. A few lingering students give them weird looks, but no one questions why they are walking together. 

“Oh,” he fiddles with the cuff of his captain jacket. It occurs to Agatha, quite belatedly, that jacket aside, they are basically wearing matching outfits, as she too chose a white shirt and dark jeans, switching out her clumps for sneakers that day. “Well, hm, thanks. For the advice. I didn’t get a chance to say it that night.”

“You’re welcome.”

This is where the conversation should end. This where they should part ways. Agatha would make something up to Hester, maybe Chaddick had to hand some lab notes to her, and it would be like that party never existed and-

“Did you talk to your mother?” the question flies out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “About the house?”

_Goddammit-_

“I did.” Tedros offers her a small, genuine smile. “She’s not going to sell it, at least, not anymore. Mom’s renting the guest rooms for tourists. Like a bed and breakfast. Inn, I guess. Starting next winter.”

“That’s good,” Agatha finds herself smiling back, ignoring the conflicting voices on her head. “That house means a lot to you, hm?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, before his guard goes up again. “I’ll be sure to send you an invitation for the opening party. I’ll do my best to not spill beer all over you again, _princess_.”

“ _I told you not to call me that_ ,” she glares, her smile going up in smoke.

“I can’t help it,” he shrugs, “you left without giving me your name, so I just called you that in my mind for weeks. It’s stuck now.”

Agatha groans.

“Well, thanks, _but no thanks_ , I’m afraid I’m not much of party person.”

“But I-” he stops mid sentence. “My mother wanted to know if you’d be willing to sing at event. _You have an amazing voice._ Are you a singer?”

The compliment makes a rash appear on Agatha’s neck.

“Not really. I took some lessons when I was younger but… I don’t really sing anymore.”

“Hard to believe with the way you sang that night.”

She fiddles with the cookie package as arrive at the entrance hall.

“You weren’t that bad yourself,” she offers cautiously.

“I, hm, had a lot of fun singing with you that day. ”

“Yeah, me too,” she says, surprising both of them, because she actually means it. He’s smiling again, genuinely, and for a second Agatha can see why everyone seemed to love him so much.

They proceed in silence, past the reception and nearing the cafeteria, towards the west wing.

“A shame you’re not a singer. If you were signing up to that, I’d consider going to watch,” Tedros breaks the silence, pointing at a poster on the announcement board.

It’s a bright pink advertisement that Agatha is all too familiar with. Mona did great with the volleyball posters, so Sophie had annoyed the girl into creating something even better for the theater department. The title of the musical stood out in a fancy font, the dates to auditions for different roles and readings just under it, as well as a sign-up list for volunteers to backstage staff.

Agatha opens her mouth, though she wasn’t sure what to respond, when someone calls her name:

“Agatha!”

She recognizes the voice as _Nicola Saylor,_ one of the girls she had been talking to during AP History on wednesday, and Agatha’s bet for the official libero position.

Why is Nicola calling for her, she doesn’t know, but she is grateful nonetheless.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” Nicola asks with a smirk, glancing between her and Tedros curiously.

In horror, Agatha notices that they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Of course not,” she rushes, stepping away, “...did you need something?”

Nicola seems to remember why she had been looking for Agatha, as her expression gets a bit cloudy, her teasing smirk erased and replaced with sheepish grin.

“Yeah, and it’s, hm, kind of important,” her dark gaze falls on Tedros, and then goes back to Agatha.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he offers Nicola a polite smile, before turning to Agatha, something she can’t quite categorize shining in his blue eyes, “see you around, _princess_.”

Agatha barely has time to glare at his retreating back before Nicola pulls her aside towards the entrance hall.

.

.

.

“Hm, did you have a problem at tryouts?” Agatha asks, taking a sit beside the smaller girl, after Nicola proceeded to stare at her and say nothing for thirty seconds.

Out of all the girls that had signed up for the team and/or come talk to her, Nicola had been the one Agatha had the best feeling about. She vaguely remembers playing against her during sectionals in january and the girl was definitely talented. She could have a brilliant career ahead of her, if only she was given the right tools.

Nicola was easy to get along, physically fit, had potential and appeared to have a fire that was sure to contribute positively to the team.

To see her look so… defeated, was a bit disappointing.

“Well, for that I would need to have _attended_ tryouts,” she replies guiltily, “I only managed to get here now.”

Agatha blinks in confusion.

Truly, Nicola hadn’t been present at either of the other two classes she shared with Agatha that day.

“Did something happen?” the setter questions, taking a deeper look at Nicola. She looked fine, if not a bit distraught and pale, but she also appeared very tired, her eyes dull and framed by dark circles. 

“Not exactly... Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

“I was on my way to meet Hester to discuss the finalists.” 

Nicola cringes, her shoulders tensing.

“Oh.”

Agatha sits up straighter.

“Nicola, if you had an emergency I can talk to Hester; we can have you do the tryout routine now, maybe on monday if you’d prefer, and-” 

“That’s the thing,” she interrupts Agatha. “I had an emergency, but it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

She doesn’t say anything, allowing the other girl to elaborate on the statement.

“Look, I’ll be very direct. It’s not a sob story and I don’t need you to pity me. I’m just telling you as it is so you can get the picture: I don’t live in Camelot. I’m still living in Galvadon. I don’t own a car, I take two buses and a metro to get here, it takes me-”

“Almost two hours just to get here,” Agatha completes with a whisper, a frown on her face.

“Yeah,” Nicola confirms with a nod. “You’ve been to Galvadon?”

_Ha. If only she knew._

“When I was younger,” it’s her response, which isn’t a lie. She motions for Nicola to go on.

“Well, yeah. I’m also a scholarship student. All my classes are AP. If my grades slip, surely I won't be welcome here next year.”

The taller girl flinches internally, but otherwise tries to remain neutral. Agatha herself had only been taking three AP classes, and she’s been already feeling the extra workload weighting her down. All AP? Talk about a nightmare.

“I take care of both my father and our family business. My brothers aren’t… very helpful,” Nicola pauses. “I know I shouldn’t join the team. It’s been less than a week of me having to show up early because the HR department wanted me here, be it for tours, or to talk to the faculty, and I’m completely burnt out. Today I was completely dead to the world and almost couldn’t find the strength to get up.”

She looks into Agatha’s eyes, a spark of her inner fire warming her complexion as she continued:

“But I did, because even with all that, I really want to join. I love volleyball. And you even told me yourself: I’d be a perfect fit.”

Agatha sighs.

“You can still play with us, even if you don’t make it varsity. That way you wouldn’t need to put all that extra pressure on yourself. You need to put your health first,” she smiles weakly, her hand resting above the exposed black band on her right knee, “take it from me.”

“Agatha, please,” she begged, “I love playing competitively. I have more experience than any of the other girls. I want to play varsity. If you want that nationals trophy, you need me on your team. I only ask that you guys make an exception on me missing some of the morning practices. _Please.”_

On one hand, Nicola was right. Now with Ella and the other seniors all gone, it was her job to find the best people to fill their positions. Nicola would be a great fit for the team. She had the potential to grow and the will-power to do so.

But on the other hand, shouldn’t a captain look out for all members of the team? She could not let Nicola endanger herself like that!

Agatha massages her temples. _Curse the day Hester convinced her to run for captain._

“Let’s say I say _‘yes’_ to this, and we both go face Hester right now,” she started, eyeing Nicola carefully, “if it turns out that being on the team drags down your grades or impacts your health, you need to promise me you'll tell me right away and hand over your varsity jerseys,” she says. “Promise me you will.”

“I promise.”

Agatha glares at her, seeing Nicola flinch.

“If I ever find out you broke that promise, I guarantee you, Nicola Saylor, won’t be welcome at any volleyball meeting ever again at Camelot High for as long as I am a captain. Not even if you were there _just to watch_. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Nicola whispers, “I do.”

“Good,” Agatha huffs. “Now, if we’re talking to Hester we need a plan. How long can you stay after afternoon practice?”

“It ends at 4pm right? Then, about an hour. I need to be at the Four Point before it gets too dark.”

The co-captain weights her options.

“I have good news, bad news, and some other news for you then.”

“Hit me.”

“Well, good news is that we have two kinds of morning practices: game practices and workout ones,” Agatha explains. “If you stay later during afternoon practice, I can guide you through the workouts, which tend to be the most important part of morning practice anyway.”

“And the bad news?”

“This would only work until the end of november. After that, we increase training for sectionals, and we keep it like that until either we win the national final in april or we’re out of the competition.”

“By increase you mean...?” Nicola raises a brow.

“I mean we train on _saturday_ afternoons too, and if we make it to nationals, then during mornings too.”

Nicola bites her lip and Agatha notices her hesitate.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I told you, if you want to just be in the club, without competing, we’ll welcome you anyway. Winning trophies is not all there is to being part of the volleyball team, Nicola.”

“I know,” she replies, “But I want to do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I can do this,” she confirms, nodding. “And if it turns out I’m wrong, you’ll be the first to know.”

Agatha leans her head back against the wall, opening her cookie package. She politely offers the other girl one, but Nicola refuses, instead asking:

“What were the other news?”

“Well,” she responds taking a bite of the sweet, “now you need to convince Hester to get on board. Then Coach Dovey.”

“And you’ll help?”

“I’ll help,” Agatha nods, already dreading the conversation, “worst case scenario, I’ll vouch for you.”

Nicola hugs her.

Honestly, Agatha isn’t much of a hug person. Aside from Sophie (because Sophie had ‘twin sister rights’ as well as ‘older sibling rights’, nevermind that they contradicted each other, she just did) she didn’t really hug a lot of people. 

_In retrospect, how many times did she not hug Hester while they were together, hm?_

Not something to think about right now.

She awkwardly pats the other girl in the back.

“Thank you. I mean it,” she mutters, pulling away from the hug. “If you need anything, let me know. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

“Well, I do,” Agatha tells her. “We have the same free period on thursdays. What do you do during free period?”

“I study... Why?”

Agatha gives Nicola a look.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am on agaster hell, bring me some angst, okay?  
> Fun fact, this chapter was originally supposed to be Hester’s pov. But I chose to change it to not get away too much from the main plot. However, if you’re interested, some of her pov will be featured on the companion story.  
> (what, me, self-promoting on my own author’s notes? I’d never)  
> Again, see you guys soon, but you can always find me on insta (@_devourer_of_books_) for chats, posts and very self-indulgent content.  
> Stay safe!


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